


Betting on the Bullseye

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 186,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office's annual fundraising gala for Boston's Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation. What she doesn't expect is for him to say yes.What she truly doesn't expect is to actually like the man.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt that is currently posted on "If You Ask Nicely." So if it seems familiar or like a wacky concept, that is exactly why! That's also why this first chapter and the second chapter speed by pretty quickly. Things slow down to a normal pace after that! 😊
> 
> I've also changed the last line, but it's still the same in the other work if you want a glimpse of the future a little early!
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com). Feel free to stop by and send me a message!

“I’m not doing it.”

 

“You have to. You lost the bet.”

 

“There was no contract. I don’t technically have to do it.”

 

“No, but you would be a sucky friend if you didn’t. Come on, what have you got to lose?”

 

“The rest of my dignity that isn’t being stomped on and kicked around.”

 

“See?” Ruby teases, finishing the curl on Emma’s hair, the blonde strands bouncing against her chest. “You’ve got nothing left to lose then.”

 

She doesn’t want to do this. She really doesn’t. But she did talk a big game all last week at the bar, and when she lost the bet…well, she lost all of her dignity, too...okay, so maybe she hasn’t lost her dignity quite yet. So who cares if she’s about to embarrass herself in front of the entire world? She does. She cares. But a part of her is nagging at her that she has to keep her word, and if all else fails, this will bring light to her job. Maybe they’ll get some donations, and all of the children will be able to have a bit of a merrier Christmas. It’s something she never had when she was a child, and she’s worked her entire life to help save others from her fate, even if it’s something as small as gifting them a doll for Christmas.

 

It may seem small to most, but it’s not to them. It’s everything.

 

And if a heart for humanity can’t convince her, well, there’s about a .0000487% chance that she’ll get to meet Killian Jones, A-list actor fresh off his Oscar winning role as a mass murderer. The movie was, well, it was disturbed, but not everything he’s in is so dark. He’s most well-known for playing Superman, and if anything, that’s more appropriate when she’s going to ask him to be her date to her company’s Christmas party that doubles as a fundraising gala for Together We Rise and building Christmas boxes for foster children.

 

She’s mostly only nervous because of the whole losing her dignity thing, but a big factor is definitely that she’s attracted to the man…and all of her friends (mostly Ruby) know it. Hence why it’s him of all people she’s asking to be her date.

 

She’s going to die of embarrassment. Yep.

 

Really, he's in a lot of movies, and she happens to comment on his looks when she watches them. Maybe if she saw more movies or talked about other attractive men this wouldn't be happening to her. 

 

Maybe she'd be asking Chris Hemsworth out on a date (friendly and business-like of course) instead. 

 

Maybe this is all because Ruby is kind of evil. 

 

“If this is going to haunt me for the rest of my life, I don’t want to look like an actual ghost. So just try to make me look nice. But not club nice, you know?”

 

“Yep,” Ruby agrees, releasing another curl from the iron, the steam lingering a little too long for Emma’s liking, “got it. But you’ve still got to wear the tacky Christmas sweater. That’s non-negotiable.”

 

If Ruby wasn’t in possession of an extremely hot curling iron, Emma would try to hit her. It’s a truly horrendous sweater.

 

But it could be worse.

 

* * *

 

“Jones,” Robin calls, and Killian simply buries his head further into his pillow. He’s jetlagged, and it can’t be past eight in the morning. Why the bloody hell is Robin even here? In his home. So damn early.

 

“Go away,” he hisses, and he really shouldn’t be this much of a bastard, but he’s tired.

 

“I need to show you something.”

 

“Can it wait until my head isn’t pounding? I just got back in from London four hours ago, and I couldn’t sleep on the plane.”

 

“I mean, it could, but I think you might find this amusing. A young woman is asking you out on a date.”

 

What the hell? What is he talking about? Why would Robin know about a woman asking him on a date before he even knows? He hasn’t dated in awhile, but he’s pretty sure that’s not how dating works unless you’re in middle school and you use your friends to see if the girl you like likes you back. He cringes, thinking of the times he actually did that, and embarrassment from things he did as a child tends to linger.

 

“Through you?”

 

“Through the internet.”

 

“W-what? What are you talking about?”

 

Robin thrusts his phone into Killian’s hands, and his eyes have to adjust to the brightness of the screen before he can watch this, a headache already blooming from his lack of sleep. When they do adjust, he’s taken aback by the young woman who is apparently asking him out on a date. She’s beautiful. Stunning, really. Her blonde hair falls far past her shoulders in soft curls and her long dark eyelashes accentuate her wide green eyes. He’s never seen anyone like her. Sure, he’s seen lots of beautiful women, especially in his line of work, but no one has ever enraptured him like this woman who is apparently asking him out on a date. He hasn’t even pressed play on the video yet.

 

Maybe it’s the jet lag.

 

Yeah, the jet lag.

 

“Hi,” the woman begins, her voice clearly strained. In his years of acting, he’s had to learn when people feel uncomfortable by the tone of their voice or their facial features, and this woman is obviously uncomfortable, the smile on her face very clearly not reaching her eyes. “My name is Emma Swan, and I work for Boston’s Children’s Shelter. And I’d like to ask Killian Jones to be my date to our Christmas gala on December first to raise money for Together We Rise. Come on, Superman. Don’t you want to be a hero in real life, too?”

 

The video ends with the woman, Emma Swan, still sitting with a forced smile on her face as the camera pans down to the sweater she’s wearing. It’s, well, it’s horrible, the green base of it covered in shining green garland and ornaments, clearly emulating a Christmas tree. It’s the sweater and her forced words that make him realize she’s likely not doing this because she wants to. She’s somehow being forced into it. A lost bet maybe? Or an order from her boss? Maybe she drew the short stick in a company contest at work? Nevertheless, she looks entirely uncomfortable even with everything about her outer appearance seeming cheery.

 

He knows better than to look at comments of anything online, the comment sections on his Instagram and twitter have taught him enough lessons to know that in some cases ignorance is bliss, but he can’t help from scrolling down on the video which has apparently amassed nearly half a million views in the week it’s been online.

 

_KJ7839: This is cute! You should go, Superman!_

_LilJlove: I mean, does anyone else think this is ridiculous? This woman is supposed to be a professional, and she’s basically begging a man who has better things to do with his time to go on a date with her and claiming “it’s for the kids.” Pathetic._

_JohnSmitherson: Dude, this chick is smoking! I’ll be your date even with that sweater, lady._

_SuperJones: Can you say thirsty? Because this girl sure is!_

_Anonymous: Killian is a good guy! He probably won’t go, but he’ll likely donate to the charity!_

The last message gets his head spinning, thinking of how he could just donate to the charity Miss Swan’s mentioned. He does every year anyways, but he could likely make a difference by showing up, spearheading a campaign to get his fans to donate. He’s never really wanted to do anything like that before, always worried that people are going to think that he’s only doing it to promote himself, and while he’s sure that’ll be the case if he does this, he doesn’t care.  No one knows that he spent time in the foster system. He’s not ashamed of it. He simply grew tired of the pitying looks he got when people find out, but he’s been discreetly trying to help out as much as he can with what he can from the success he’s somehow garnered.

 

Maybe it’s time to stop hiding in the shadows.

 

“So you can likely just make a small video,” Robin begins, taking his phone out of Killian’s hands, “thanking her for her offer but saying you’re busy and then donating money to the charity and asking others to do the same.”

 

“Am I busy?”

 

“What?”

 

“Am I actually busy on that day?”

 

“Well, no. You’re free, but you can’t go on dates with every woman who asks you out on a date through a video. If you do it this once, it’ll start something.”

 

“I’m going.”

 

* * *

 

“Emma, holy shit,” Ruby screeches, running into her office and wow is she glad she didn’t have any kids with her today.

 

Before she can even ask what Ruby’s yelling about, Ruby’s phone is in her face, and she sees Killian Jones himself on the screen in a Christmas sweater exactly like the one she wore in her video. Holy shit is right. Did he really go through the effort of searching for a matching sweater? Not that it was that difficult. It’s on the first website that pops up when you google ugly Christmas sweaters, but still.

 

“Is it…is he about to make fun of me in this?”

 

Ruby laughs, her entire body shaking with the movement, and she has no idea what that is supposed to mean. “No, Ems. Just watch.”

 

She’s apprehensive, but she presses play, preparing herself for what has already been a week of embarrassment (three people recognized her in Target in fifteen minutes, and one person asked for a selfie) only increasing. She’s tried to block out the fact that her face is all over the internet and that her office gets so many prank calls, but everything just seems to make her unable to forget. She should have known he’d respond in some way, should have prepared herself for it.

 

But she didn’t.

 

“Hello, Emma Swan,” he greets, a broad smile on his face that seems much more genuine than the one she had plastered on her face in her video. He reaches up to scratch behind his ear after giving her (or the camera really) a small wave, and her heart flutters a bit. A man who she has a weird, celebrity crush on (She’s an adult. Should she have celebrity crushes?) just said her name, and she’s not sure if she’s excited or mortified. Probably a little bit of both as her cheeks heat and tint in red.

 

“My name is Killian Jones, though I guess you know that from your video, and I’d just like to say that it turns out I am available on December first. So, Emma Swan, you want to go on a date? I can pick you up at eight, and I promise I won’t be a minute late.” She snorts at his rhyming, and he seems to grimace, his lips curling downward and pursing like he’s eaten something sour. “I most definitely didn’t mean to rhyme there, so I apologize about that, love. I guess I got caught up in myself, but I’m not going to record this video again because I’ll overthink it. Guess my other secret identity is Dr. Suess.” He laughs at himself, and she does the same, her mind completely ignoring Ruby smirking at her from her desk. “So yeah, this is probably my worst attempt at asking a lass on a date, even if you did ask first. See you soon, Swan, and to everyone watching, if you’re able, find a charity you support and donate your time or money to them this holiday season!”

 

At the end of the message is a little recorded roll of how she can get in contact with him through his agent, and if her office has gotten a lot of calls this week, she cannot imagine how many he’ll get. People will probably claim they’re her, and she’s most definitely already seriously ruing the day she made a bet with Ruby Lucas.

 

“You’re going to pass out when you see him, aren’t you?”

 

“No. That’s just weird, you know. Like, he said my name, and it obviously wasn’t a prewritten thing.”

 

“You realize you’re going to meet him, right? Like, I know we didn’t expect him to say yes, but holy shit he said yes.”

 

For some reason it’s not until Ruby says the words that she realizes that he said yes. That this stupid bet has somehow resulted in something other than her embarrassment. Though she does think this will only lead to more embarrassment. Yeah, she’s just going to go ahead and dig her own grave.

 

“He said yes,” she mumbles under her breath, trying to calm herself because this is absolutely ridiculous. Every single part of it.

 

She's going to seem like such a freak when that is one hundred percent not what this is. 

 

* * *

 

He’s spoken on the phone with Emma Swan three times, but nothing compares to speaking to her in person. She was obviously nervous when he picked her up at her apartment (he did say that he would, after all), and while he’d like to say that he was going about this as if it was a business deal, he can’t. The moment she opened the door and his eyes spanned down to the black jumpsuit she had on, sleek and modest except for the way that it dipped in between her breasts into a low v, as well as the way her lips were painted red and her hair pulled up into a ponytail, well, he knew that the camera did not do her justice. He also knew that he stared at her far too long than what was appropriate, and he’d probably made himself look like some kind of creep, effectively making her uncomfortable for the rest of their evening.

 

But she doesn’t seem to be cross with him, nervously talking to him about her job and what exactly they’ll be doing tonight in the car ride over to the museum where the gala is being held. It’s apparently for several charities and not just Boston’s Children Shelter, and that’s why it’s a black tie event with all of the gift wrapping. If it were up to her, they’d actually do something with the kids, but she apparently has to make small talk with all of the wealthy donors in town instead.

 

Emma also thanks him at least twice every five minutes for coming, and after about the seventeenth time, he took her hand in his and squeezed, feeling the soft skin of her palm underneath the callouses of his, and assured her that he was more than happy to do this.

 

They make their way through the photographers outside the museum, ones he knows are specifically there for him, and so he waves to them, posing with his hand on Emma’s back until they make it inside. There are Christmas decorations interspersed between the exhibits, silver Christmas trees with blue and green lights, contemporary decorations that are a total mismatch the decorations he has at home. But the place is beautiful, the dim overhead lights making the Christmas lights brighter, tinsel and glitter everywhere he looks with a muted Christmas playlist, all slow, classical songs playing in the background.

 

He’s suddenly struck with the idea that this is like that episode of The Office where Michael makes everyone get rid of all of their regular decorations and replace them with things like the museum’s decorations because Holly is coming to town. What did he call it? Cool Christmas? No. Was it a Classy Christmas? Yeah, that’s what it was. This feels like a classy Christmas where Santa wears red leather and has a six pack instead of being jolly with a belly that jiggles. Something about that just doesn’t seem right to him.

 

He and Emma wander around the museum a bit, looking at the exhibits and decorations before getting some drinks and settling down at their table, the awkward conversations trending more toward normal the more time he spends with her.

 

“So I’m just going to apologize,” she begins, taking a sip of her water, and he’s just going to stop her there. She doesn’t need to apologize. He’s glad to be here.

 

“You need not apologize, love. I want to be here.”

 

Emma puts her glass down and waves her hands, shaking her head side to side, her hair moving with her. “No, no. Not that, though I do have to tha – okay, yeah, I’m not going to thank you anymore. Got it. I want to apologize for my coworker and friend, Ruby.”

 

“What is there to apologize for?”

 

“She’s, uh, well, she doesn’t have a filter.”

 

“What do you mean she – ”

 

“Well if it isn’t the smoking hot Killian Jones himself,” a tall brunette in a red dress compliments, and if he were a betting man, he’d bet this was Ruby.

 

He reaches his hand over to her, taking it in hand as he shakes it and represses his laughter. “Killian Jones. Pleased to meet you…?”

 

“Ruby Lucas, Emma’s best friend. Has she told you how much of a fan she is? Because she is. Huge, really. She even watched you play that psycho, and she never watches things like that. It’s because she thinks you’re hot.”

 

“That’s not true, Rubes! I love crime things!”

 

“So you don’t think I’m hot, lass?” he teases, waggling his eyebrows and watching the blush rise in Emma’s cheeks. He knows that he barely knows the woman, that they’re just acquaintances, but he can’t help but mess with her, Ruby’s laughter encouraging him.

 

“That’s not what I – I…Ruby, why are you trying to torture me? Wasn’t the online video embarrassing enough?”

 

“Nope,” Ruby grins, and he can practically feel the awkwardness rolling off of Emma. “I was trying to set you up, and you’ve just ruined it.”

 

“Rubes,” Emma admonishes, “you’re being ridiculous!” He feels a hand on his arm, warm fingers digging into his. “I’m sorry. I promise I'm not nearly as crazy as Ruby says I am, which is exactly what a crazy person would say. I’m sure this whole night is going to be quite the story to tell when you go back to L.A.”

 

He places his hand over Emma’s on his arm and squeezes, a genuine smile on his face. “I sure hope so, love.”

 

Throughout the night Emma (and Ruby if he’s honest) gives him little glimpses into her life. She doesn’t share much, and why would she? He’s a stranger to her, and who the hell shares their life story to strangers? But he does learn that she loves Christmas as an adult more than she loved Christmas as a child, a feeling he recognizes almost instantly. He has so much now, more than he could have ever imagined, and while children usually experience the most joy around Christmas, he gets joy out of being able to give to others. Emma works for a children’s shelter, something one does only if they’re passionate about the work, so he knows that she feels the same way.

 

Christmas can be more than gifts and shiny things if you let it, and he thinks that Emma Swan does.

 

She prefers Christmas comedies, but she will occasionally sit down and watch the dramas, stuffing her face with chocolate covered popcorn while drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon. He’s learned those last two things are essential, and he stores that away for some reason, like he’ll have use for it in the future.

 

She and Ruby together are hilarious, the two obviously close, and he’s having a better time than he thought that he would when he agreed to do this, his stomach aching with how much he’s laughing. He was asked out through a video online, and it’s one of the best dates he’s had in awhile…even if it’s not really a date.

 

But maybe it is, even if there will be no pillaging and plundering.

 

* * *

 

Killian freaking Jones is dancing with her. Like, her arms are wrapped around his neck while his hands hold onto her waist as they sway back and forth to match the other people dancing. Okay, so it’s swaying not dancing, but she doesn’t think her feet could do anything else. She’d also likely lose the last remaining shred of her dignity (it’s already scraping the bottom of the barrel at this point) because cameras have been on her – Killian – all night long. There’s likely not a single point of her night that’s undocumented by someone.

 

If he wasn't so nice, this entire thing would be incredibly uncomfortable. More so than it is. 

 

“So Swan,” he speaks over the music, “can I ask you something?”

 

“It depends.”

 

“On what, love?”

 

“Well, if it’s something like when my birthday is, that’s fine. But if it’s the color of my underwear, I’d say that’s not.”

 

“Damn. I’ll have to think of something else then.”

 

She chuckles before moving a bit closer, her hands tightening around his neck. He’s nice and incredibly cheeky, something she always thought was a bit of a show for the cameras, and while he could be putting this all on for this quasi date tonight, she thinks that it’s genuine. She’s always been good at reading people, at being able to tell when they’re lying, and he’s telling the truth with everything he says. He’s a good guy, and that’s what she’s going to tell people when this night is over and she never seems him again.

 

“What were you really going to ask?” she ponders, and her fingers brush across the hair at the nape of his neck, quickly feeling the soft strands before moving her hand to a more appropriate spot. She definitely doesn’t need to be messing with his hair, and she’s so distracted by it that she misses his question.

 

“Why me?”

 

“I’m sorry, what?” she mumbles, her attention finally focused back on him, her eyes looking into his and her mind totally focused.

 

Okay, so mostly focused.

 

“Why me?” he chuckles, and the man probably knows that their proximity is distracting her.

 

“Why you what?”

 

Why is she such an idiot? He’s going to think she’s incompetent, and she’s not. She’s definitely not. She’s a fully competent adult with a respectable job and friends and…oh God, she’s likely spacing off right now, which totally isn’t helping her case. When she looks forward again, Killian is softly smiling at her, kindness in his eyes, and she’s got to get a grip. After their initial meeting and the car ride, she’s been far less nervous, far less uncomfortable with him being here, and she doesn’t want to revert back to that.

 

“Why am I here on a date with you tonight? How did that happen?”

 

She cringes, and he laughs, his eyes crinkling while he flashes his teeth at her. Oh yeah, going on a date with a celebrity you think is attractive is a fantastic idea. It doesn’t make her feel like her stomach is turning upside down inside of her at all.

 

“I lost a bet.”

 

Killian raises an eyebrow and flashes her that smile again. Her stomach most definitely flips again, and she’s going to lose it by the end of the night if that doesn’t stop. “Can I, uh, ask what the bet was?”

 

“It was stupid, so, so stupid, but Ruby and I were out at a bar throwing darts. And that may not seem like a big deal, but she and I get super competitive. It’s kind of like a tradition for us, and to be honest, I was one drink away from being drunk, so I started to talk a good game, saying that I could hit a bullseye before Ruby could.”

 

“I’m guessing you didn’t hit the bullseye.”

 

“I barely hit the board, while Ruby hit at on her second try. And our deal was that we get to pick the date, no restrictions except for exes, to the person who loses. Little did I know that it’d be, well, you.”

 

“I ask again. Why me?”

 

“I may or may not have mentioned that I find you attractive, and my friends are evil.”

 

“Well, I am devastatingly handsome.”

  
  
“And humble too.”

 

It’s when they finish dancing that Killian whispers in her ear, “I’m glad you didn’t hit that bullseye.”

 

There’s that stomach flip again, but this time it feels different.

 

The rest of the evening pretty much involves schmoozing the wealthy and convincing them to donate their money to the shelter. A part of her feels guilty that she knows most of these people will probably donate a bit more to her because of Killian, but she’s not about to refuse their money for all that it can do to help the children she works with. Killian is every bit as charming and convincing as he’s been all night, and every few seconds she’s sure that she’s going to wake up from some kind of really good dream where her celebrity crush has his hand on the small of her back and is buying her drinks from the bar.

 

This entire night, and the weeks leading up to it really, is surreal, and there’s no other word for it.

 

By the time that she and Killian load up into the car he drove her here in, it’s far past midnight, her feet aching from her heels and her mind weary from all of the schmoozing and sweet talking she’s been doing all night…not to mention not looking like an idiot to her date. Okay, so she’s long past that. There’s no way he doesn’t think she’s an idiot, though. He’s a celebrity (though sometimes she does forget and thinks he’s simply a normal guy) who is likely has better things to do than go on dates with women who ask him out online, but all night she’s felt like there was something there, some kind of connection. She’s simply not sure what that connection is.

 

It’s probably her imagination, some kind of weird fantasy that she’s dreamed up about tonight, and she’s just going to stuff that thought down. She likes him, and that’s another thought that she needs to stuff down. She can’t like him. She’s never going to see him again, and there’s no need for her to get caught up in one night.

 

But she has gotten caught up.

 

She’s insane, right?

 

“Can I ask you a question, Killian?”

  
  
They’re nearing her apartment, and she has to ask. She’s wondered all night, and she knows that she’ll regret never asking. Of course, if she doesn’t like his answer, she’ll likely regret asking.

 

“Black.”

  
  
“What?”

 

“My underwear is black.”

 

She snorts, a loud throaty thing that she wishes she could take back, but she can’t. instead she covers her mouth with her hand and leans back, her head hitting the soft leather seat as she looks over to see him smiling while his eyes never leave the road.

 

“So not what I was going to ask.”

  
  
“What then, love?”

 

“Why did you come tonight?”

  
  
“Ah, well, because a pretty lass asked me on a date.”

 

Heat rises in her face, and it only increases when his eyes stray from the road to look over at her, the smile still on his face when he gives her an exaggerated wink.

 

“I’m sure a lot of pretty lasses ask you on dates.”

 

“Aye,” he confirms before reaching his hand over to place it on hers, his skin every bit as warm as it has been all night, “but only one of them asked me on a date to raise money for a charity I love, and only one knows that I love that charity because I spent a few years in the foster system.”

 

He…what?

 

“Y-you did?”

 

“I did. It’s not something I share as it’s deeply personal, but I figured you’d understand.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Orphans all have the same look in their eyes, and while I’ve always had my brother, I understand.”

 

“I…thank you for sharing that with me, Killian. I feel honored that you’d share something like that with me, someone you’d just met. Even if you did somehow figure out a secret of mine.”

 

“You’re a bit of an open book, darling.”

 

She smiles before resting her neck against the headrest as they continue to drive, the city light up with a mixture of Christmas lights and headlights, every one of them the tiniest bit too bright, but she doesn’t care. He walks her to her door when they get to her apartment, his suit jacket draped over her shoulders, leading her up their staircases and lingering outside on the balcony, the sounds of cars zooming by and intoxicated pedestrians echoing from four floors below. If she listened carefully, she could hear her heart beating within her chest.

 

“Would you like to come inside?”

 

* * *

 

When she wakes up the next morning, still clothed in her jumpsuit with Killian in his tux on the couch beside her, her neck is screaming at her while her pores are yelling at her for not removing her makeup. She can’t believe that she slept with him…okay, that she fell asleep on her couch with him. So she slept with him in the very literal sense of the word, and this is by far the craziest thing that’s ever happened to her.

 

All because she can’t throw darts while drunk.

 

Her phone chime continues to go off, and she has to move Killian’s head off of her shoulder, letting it fall to the back of the couch, in order to get up and scramble through her clutch from last night to find her phone, the screen filled with texts from Ruby.

 

She types in her passcode, clicking on the messages, and it only takes her a moment to see what all of the fuss is about.

 

It’s pictures of she and Killian throughout the night, arriving at the gala, sitting at dinner, dancing, getting drinks from the bar, betting at the silent auction, and then, finally, Killian’s lips slanted over hers outside her apartment before the two of them stepped inside.

 

_Ruby: YOU KISSED HIM_

_Ruby: AND THEN HE WENT INSIDE YOUR APARTMENT_

  
  
_Ruby: DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM_

_Ruby: EMMA SWAN I NEED DETAILS WHAT’S HAPPENING_

_Ruby: IF YOU GUYS GET MARRIED AND HAVE BABIES YOU OWE ME BIG TIME_

_Ruby: I’M THINKING A YACHT._

_Ruby: WE’LL CALL IT THE LOVE BOAT_

 

She snorts at all of Ruby’s messages, blush rising in her cheeks at all of her questions as well as thinking about the fact that she did very much kiss Killian last night, something that was totally inappropriate for their arrangement, but something that also felt just right. She’s had a lot of first kisses in her life, some chaste, others awkward, a few far too passionate, but this one made her toes curl in her heels and her body tingle with pleasure. And then when he kissed her again once inside her apartment, the smallest of chaste kisses before they fell asleep watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas, well, that kiss had confirmed that after a few hours, Killian Jones might just be on his way to stealing her heart.

 

Dignity is overrated when your world has possibly been turned upside down by a stupid bet.

 

She hopes that things aren't different in the light of day. 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally had no idea how to break up these chapters. I could do short, long, medium sized. But we're going with medium in my pathetic attempt to keep this to only a few chapters but still get you guys words not too far apart without a million chapters. 
> 
> Double line break means change of POV.

Killian flies back to Los Angeles before noon, but he leaves her apartment at a little past nine, his dress shirt ruffled almost as much as his hair, the black strands sticking up in a million directions.

 

It’s, well, it’s awkward.

 

Really, really awkward.

 

After texting Ruby back, promising to call her later to give all of the details – or really to take away from all of the details that Ruby has most likely crafted in that mind of hers – she gently shook Killian awake, shaking him until his eyelids fluttered open to reveal tired blue eyes that blew wide when he saw her. For a moment, she thought he was shocked, like he had no idea where he was, and maybe he didn’t. If she woke up in a strange place with someone she barely knew – okay, so maybe she has a little experience in that area – she’d likely scream or get the hell out of there. But Killian had simply rubbed his eyes before mumbling a _g’morning, love_ to her.

 

He hadn’t had much time to talk, none really, jumping around her messy shack of an apartment putting his shoes on and using her mouthwash as an impromptu replacement for a toothbrush while she made him a cup of coffee. She’d meant to tell him about the photos Ruby had sent her, the ones that had caused her heart to race for more reasons than one, but they slipped her mind as he practically ran out the door with a smile and the smallest of waves accompanied by words she barely remembers.

 

And with her favorite travel mug.

 

It had swans on it.

 

A heavy weight settled in her stomach, something entirely unfamiliar, and all she could think about was how stupid she was. What the hell was she doing kissing Killian Jones? A man who lives across the country from her, a man who she barely knows and will never see again, and a man who has a face that the world recognizes. There are damn pictures of them. And maybe the video of her asking him out on a date won’t haunt her forever, but paparazzi pictures of them kissing sure as hell will.

 

Killian’s a good guy. She knows this. Something in her gut tells her that he wasn’t acting last night, so there’s no way he simply kissed her out of obligation or to tease her, right? He had to mean it. There had to be…feelings involved.

 

Maybe it was just a one-time (or two-time) thing.

 

After all, how can you really have feelings for someone after one night?

 

You can’t, or maybe you can, but she shouldn’t feel like an anchor has rooted itself in her stomach.

 

In all honesty, she feels a bit used, which is ridiculous. If anything, she used Killian. Well, no. She didn’t _use_ him. She lost a bet and asked him to be her date. But then she used that date and his high profile to help raise money for charity. So she used him for charity? Does that even count? Does any of this count?

 

Fuck, she has no idea what’s going on or how to feel. Confusion is pretty much all she understands right now…and she barely understands that.

 

Killian Jones isn’t exactly high on her list right now when he’d been at the very top less than ten hours ago.

 

She doesn’t even have a way to contact him besides his agent’s number. Would he even want that? Would she even want that? Was it just that one-time thing that she tricked herself into thinking otherwise? Does he go around kissing all of the girls he goes on video bet dates with? God, even in her head that sounds absolutely ridiculous.

 

Sighing, she tries to forget about it, stripping out of her jumpsuit and hopping into the shower, letting the hot water wash over her, her mascara dripping down her face and her foundation smearing as she wipes it on the towel, having foolishly grabbed a white one instead of the dark blue ones where the stains are easier to hide or wash away. It looks like a clown fell into the towel, and that alone causes her to giggle, her body lightening the slightest bit. She’s being overdramatic and frankly a bit ridiculous, and even though it nags at her for the rest of her shower, it’s nagging from somewhere in the back.

 

It was a date that’s not going to have a follow-up. She’s had more of those than she can count, and even if this date was a business deal and with Killian Jones, he’s still just a guy. She wouldn’t get this worked up for anyone else. She hasn’t in a long time, and she doesn’t plan on it happening anytime soon.

 

Emma goes about her day as normal, puttering around the apartment cleaning and completely and totally ignoring her phone even as it occasionally vibrates from its perch on the kitchen counter.

 

It’s a little past eight in the evening when she caves in her goal of not looking at her phone, and it’s really only because she’s on her second glass of wine. Nevertheless, she settles on a barstool, one hand holding her wine, the liquid sloshing around, and the other thumbing through her phone.

 

There are a few texts from Ruby, most of them more details from Ruby’s night outside of the time she spent with she and Killian – apparently, she met a super nice girl at the gala and has a date with her Friday night. The other notifications are mostly from her boss, emails and financial details about how successful they were last night. She responds to those first, making sure that everything she types is as professional as possible, before going through the rest of her phone. She has a few missed calls, numbers that look like scam or telemarketers, and she quickly deletes those. After all of those little red notifications go away, she moves to the couch, flopping down and holding her phone above her chest as she scrolls through Instagram.

 

Everything’s normal, just her usual friends and people she met, like, once in college that somehow found her and decided she was worth a follow so she followed them back, until she gets to a picture of a coffee mug…with swans on it…sitting on the tray table of an airplane seat along with a stack of papers with a blacked-out title that looks like some kind of thick script.

 

**KillianJonesOfficial: Boston > L.A. with a souvenir not sold in stores and a little light reading over a secret project I can’t wait to share with you guys! **

 

She can’t help the smile that blooms on her face, her body doing a little dance even though she’s still a little pissed that he stole her mug and at the whole way that he kind of ditched her this morning. But her alcohol tolerance is lower than it used to be, and her glasses of wine were a little bit on the larger side. She likes the photo, scrolling down and commenting even though she knows that he won’t see it.

 

Yeah, so she’s definitely a lightweight and the tiniest bit inebriated.

 

**Emma710Swan: Hey thief, I want my mug back. It’s apparently not sold in stores, so I don’t know what I’m going to do to get another one.**

She doesn’t think anything of her comment until she wakes up the next morning with so many notifications on her home screen that her phone doesn’t even show them all. They’re all from Instagram, and when she logs on, she sees that she has hundreds of replies to her comment on Killian’s post as well as thousands of follower requests. She doesn’t…she doesn’t know what to do with all of this information, especially when she accidentally clicks on the popular page and sees all of those paparazzi photos of she and Killian plastered across her screen. She knew they existed, wasn’t really _that_ bothered by it, but suddenly she’s facing the reality of this whole thing.

 

Her life is public knowledge now, pictures of her kissing someone far too famous for anyone’s well-being all across the internet. She can’t stop looking, continuously scrolling and seeing more pictures from the gala everywhere, different filters and captions and all things she wasn’t prepared to see.

 

“Oh God,” she mumbles when a few hateful messages pop up. She can’t look at those, no matter how much she wants to, and she throws her phone across the bed, letting it bounce on the mattress until it falls to the floor. “This is so, so not good.”

 

* * *

 

Her office phone rings, the shrill sound something she’s tired of hearing over the past few days as it’s been going off non-stop. She’s had to become a hermit in her own life, something she never thought would happen after simply kissing a guy. Okay, so she’s boarded herself away after going on dates before, but that’s because she’s either been heartbroken or too pissed off to want to do anything. But this was one date, a thing that was really more of a business arrangement that happened to end up with her actually having a good time, and it’s wreaking more havoc on her life than any of the heartbreaks in her past.

 

Well, Neal was pretty fucked up, but she tries to push that to the back of her mind, somewhere under piles of much better things that didn’t break her so damn much.

 

She hasn’t even heard from Killian again, and maybe that’s what’s making her feel so bitter still. Was it all some kind of game to him? Why the hell does she still care? She needs to get over it.  

 

“What?” she groans into the phone, her tone so harsh that she cringes knowing it’s probably her boss calling with the luck that she has.

 

“Swan?”

 

Oh.

 

That’s not her boss. That’s Killian.

 

Fuck.

 

All she’s wanted was for him to call, and now it’s taking every ounce of strength in her body not to hang up on him. Maybe it’s curiosity that keeps her from hanging up, or maybe it’s a bit of hope that she hasn’t been going crazy the past few days for nothing.

 

“What do you want, Killian?”

 

“Love, I’ve been trying to call you for days, but you haven’t answered your cell phone. Or your office phone.”

 

“But what do you want?” she hisses, propping her phone between her cheek and her shoulders as she crosses her arms over her chest. Logically, she knows that some of this mania is her fault. She kissed him back, she invited him into the apartment, and she commented on his Instagram. But she also didn’t know that there would paparazzi stalking outside of her apartment (because wow, super creepy and invasive on so many levels) or that commenting on his Instagram would cause such mania. She didn’t even realize that anyone would see it or that it’d create such a frenzy. How the hell can a couple of pictures and an Instagram comment make her life this insane? How do people live like this?

 

Killian didn’t know those things either, though. His only fault has really been the way he left things between them…and he’s apparently tried to call. Damn. She has no idea what to do or how to deal with any of these things. Listening to Killian would probably be a good start.

 

“Well, I wanted to talk about the pictures of us, and then all of the media abuse you’ve likely been facing if what I’ve heard is correct or if my Instagram is any indication. And I also just wanted to talk to you. I had a good time on Saturday, love, and my poor goodbye on Sunday beside, I was hoping maybe I could continue to get to know you.”

 

Oh fuck. Oh damn. Oh hell. She can’t think of a single word that’s not “oh” or a curse that she encourages the kids at the shelter not to use.

 

“Killian, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

“Did you…do you not feel the same?”

 

He sounds so broken, his accent going more high pitched and cracking on words that it shouldn’t. She doesn’t know what she wants or how she feels.

 

“No, I did. I do. It’s just,” she sighs, running her hands through her hair and completely ruining her braid, “I’m a nobody. And I don’t mean that in a bad way or a self-pitying way. But I’m someone who can go to the grocery store and buy a tub of ice cream, and no one knows about it but me and the guy assisting with self-checkout. I live in a shitty apartment because I like it that way, and when I go out with my friends, no one notices. After one night with you, though, there are pictures of me online, people outside of my apartment, death threats online, and people calling into the office who have no interest in actually working with the shelter.”

 

He’s silent on the other line for a moment too long, making her think that she’s lost him until he shudders. “Shit, love. I’m sorry. I knew it was bad, but I was hoping you hadn’t actually experienced everything that I feared.”

 

“Well, I have. And your less than spectacular exit on Sunday hasn’t exactly made me feel great. It honestly made me feel kind of cheap. Killian, Saturday night was fun, something that I didn’t expect after, you know, only asking you out on a super embarrassing bet. I thought it’d be like a business arrangement, but then we ended up having a good time. I don’t know if you were acting or – ”

 

“I wasn’t acting.”

 

“Or what,” she continues, trying to talk through his words and calm the erratic beating of her heart, “but I’m just not sure that I can allow my life to be in upheaval over some guy I barely know. I’ve been through that enough.”

 

“I get that, Swan, and if you don’t want to give me a chance, I’ll move on and leave you be. But I’d at least like to get to know you.”

 

“How would that even work? You live across the country. I’m busy. You’re busy.”  


“Phone, texts, facetime. You get to know me as a friend from far away, and then if you decide you’d like to see me again, I’m on a plane. If not, well, then we never have to see each other again. And I’ll make a statement to try to clear up some of this mess, okay? Just give me a shot?”

 

She doesn’t know why, but she gives him her personal number and says yes.

 

Her day continues to be absolutely insane, the phone calls never stopping and all of her coworkers but Ruby giving judgmental, disdainful looks. She’s putting everyone through hell with the calls they’re getting, and it’s like every thankful hug and word she got on Saturday for helping to bring in the money they’ll be using to help fund their Christmas has been taken back. The only real solace she has is Ruby, who goes out and buys her a cheeseburger and fries for lunch so that she doesn’t have to leave the office. It’s like she’s back in middle school. She’s twenty-eight years old and living in middle school.

 

“They’re just frustrated, Ems,” Ruby consoles, swiping her own fries in a strawberry milkshake that it’s far too cold to be drinking, “and maybe a little jealous. I mean, come on. You kissed Killian Jones Saturday night, and Kathryn’s boyfriend got drunk and threw up.”

 

“It was just a kiss.”

 

“Okay sure, honey. Whatever you tell yourself.”

 

She takes a bite of her cheeseburger, letting her junk food help her deal with everything. “He called me today. Said he wants to get to know me more.”

 

“Shit. What’d you say?”

 

“I mean, I complained about the last few days because I feel like I’m in a fishbowl, but,” she shrugs her shoulders and grimaces, “I said yes. I’m crazy, and I said yes.”

 

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re dating Killian Jones.”

 

“I’m _getting to know_ Killian Jones. And it’s a secret.”

 

Just then Ruby’s phone chimes, and she smirks before her brows furrow together and her fingers scroll down the screen. “Your secret lover boy is talking about you on Instagram.”

 

“What?” She practically jumps around her desk, leaving her food and sticking her hands out until she gets Ruby’s phone. Sure enough, there’s a photo of the two of them from the gala, laughing at their table at dinner.

 

**KillianJonesOfficial: Hi, friends! I don’t usually like to get serious on here, especially when it comes to something that should have been lighthearted. Emma Swan asked me out on a date through a video, and I agreed because I wanted to support Boston Children’s Shelter. Miss Swan and I had a wonderful time supporting several charities, and the end of our night was documented by photographers. I won’t deny any of that or what the pictures show, but Miss Swan and I are simply friends. If you all could be so kind, I’d appreciate it if everyone stopped invading her private life and her work life. She didn’t ask for her life to be invaded, and I think we would all be better served spending our time doing things that matter. It’s still early in the holiday season, and there’s much giving to be done! Thank you!**

 

“Well, damn,” Ruby whistles, causing Emma to look up from the phone, her cheeks so hot that if someone touched them, she’s sure they could burn flesh, “you’ve got it bad.”

 

“Ruby.”

 

“I know, I know. Emma Swan doesn’t fall for a man in one night. She’s got walls and is guarded and all that jazz, but girl, if the smile on your face says anything, you’ve got it bad.”

 

* * *

* * *

**Emma Swan: Okay, what question am I on?**

**Emma Swan: And this doesn’t count as a question, bud.**

 

He laughs before scrolling through his phone, trying to find her question number, but they haven’t really been following the rules of twenty questions anyways. They’ve each got to be on at least seventy now with follow up questions. It’s been going on like this for nearly three weeks. They send texts back and forth, the occasional call when he’s on a break from filming reshoots of his last movie and doesn’t have time to be texting, but it’s mostly them getting to know each other in the simplest of ways. It had been awkward when he’d first texted her, the conversations stilted like they had been when he picked her up at her apartment, and he’d foolishly suggested they play twenty questions.

 

He’s thirty-two years old, and he’s playing twenty questions with the girl he likes.

 

**Killian Jones: I don’t think it matters, but I think you’re technically on questions seventeen, love.**

 

**Emma Swan: What size t-shirt do you wear?**

 

He snorts, laughter rumbling through his stomach, before rolls over on the couch, propping his chin up on Liam’s throw pillow…okay, so it’s Elsa’s throw pillow. He’s absolutely positive that Liam didn’t pick this out.

 

**Killian Jones: Large. Why do you ask?**

**Killian Jones: And that doesn’t count as a question.**

**Emma Swan: Because I’m sending you a late Christmas gift that I just found while shopping.**

**Killian Jones: You’re shopping on Christmas Eve?**

**Killian Jones: Are you mad, Swan?**

**Emma Swan: Not crazy. Just been a little distracted lately and needed one more present for Leo.**

 

“Oi, little brother, get off your phone and come help in the kitchen.”

 

“I’m a guest, Liam. You and Elsa are supposed to do all of the cooking. And it’s younger brother.”

 

“Okay, then come play with your nephew then. Who are you talking to anyways?”

 

“No one,” he answers a little too quickly, and Liam catches onto it almost immediately, his eyebrows moving across his forehead while his lips tick up on one side.

 

“Do you have a girl, Killian?” Liam prods, standing over the couch and staring down at Killian. “Are you talking to a girl?”

 

“I’m talking to a friend who happens to be a girl. But not a girlfriend.”

 

“But you like her.”

 

“She’s a friend, and don’t you dare tell Elsa. She’ll get those big sentimental eyes, and then she’ll ask for details.”

 

“So there are details to be asked about then?”

 

“So you needed help in the kitchen then?” He gets up from the couch, stuffing his phone in his back pocket and sauntering into the kitchen, completely ignoring the way Liam is smirking behind him and heading straight to grab Aiden out of his highchair, tickling his stomach and asking Elsa what they’re having for Christmas Eve dinner.

 

He doesn’t check his phone for the next few hours, spending time with his family, the volume in the house only increasing when Elsa’s sister Anna and her husband Kris show up. It’s only the six of them, but it’s the loudest, most full Christmas Eve they’ve ever had. He’s only had Liam since their mum died when he was ten, and as much as he loves their Christmases together, he’s thrilled that their family is growing, even if it’s by no help of his own.

 

His nephew is the light of his life, though, the little eight-month old his best bud even if all he really does his giggle and smile at him with his little gummy smile, and he most definitely did all of his Christmas shopping for him ahead of time, unlike a certain woman did for her friend’s kid.

 

When he crawls into bed that night, Liam’s guest room a little too quiet without the box fan he usually sleeps with at home, and so knowing he can’t sleep, he pulls out his phone only to see several messages from Emma. The last one is dated just a few minutes ago, and even though it’s one in the morning in Boston, he takes a chance and presses the call button next to her name.

 

“Hello,” she mumbles before yawning, and he can’t help but smile. “Killian?”

 

“Aye. Did I wake you, love?”

 

“No, no. I was just getting in bed after finishing wrapping the rest of the presents. What are you doing?”

 

“The same thing.”

 

“Wrapping presents?”

 

“No, getting in bed.”

 

“Scandalous, Jones.”

 

“You know it, love.”

 

They end up talking for the next two hours, filling each other in on their Christmas Eve celebrations until Emma really does start yawning more than she actually speaks, the time catching up with her more than it does with him.

 

“Swan?”

 

“Mhm?”

 

“You should sleep. Goodnight, love. And Merry Christmas.”

 

“I can stay awake.”

 

“Emma,” he prods, curling up into bed himself and pulling the comforter further over his body. “Go to bed.”

 

“Okay,” she yawns, her voice gradually getting quieter, and he can hear her comforter rustling too. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

 

* * *

 

Filming on the television show he’s decided to pick up begins at the end of January. It’s a mini series, so he’s only contractually obligated to it for fifteen weeks instead of up to ten years. It’s a historical drama, one where he gets to play a hero with a tainted past who battles his demons while also battling with his adversaries. It’s been in the works for years, and as he gets fitted for his costumes, a sense of giddy anticipation fills him, even as he’s basically fitted into a corset and leather pants. Well, that’s only for one episode. The rest of the time he’s in linens and suits of men in the 1800s.  

 

The only downside to it is that as the weeks have passed, he’s grown closer to Emma, their texts still frequent, but their calls even more so. It doesn’t necessarily sound like a downside, but to him, that’s how he feels. He just hasn’t seen her more than in pictures and one or two video chats. He’s known her for two months now, not long in the grand scheme of things, but they’ve talked nearly every day. Their twenty questions game has long since stopped, the words flowing more naturally as they simply chat about their days or whatever is on their minds. She’s gotten into sending him memes and videos she finds online, and he’s taken the time to find things to send her as well.

 

Through every little conversation they have, he learns a bit more about it. For awhile, he thought that they could be friends, that he could live just talking to her like this if that’s what she ends up wanting, but he likes her. He likes her, and he has no idea how she feels about him. Yeah, they kissed, and sometimes he finds himself touching his lips at the memory of that kiss, but that was just after one night. What if she doesn’t feel the same way now? He knows that they’re friends, but what if she never decides that she wants to see him again? What if it stays as some kind of virtual relationship?

 

If that’s what she wants, he won’t try to force her into something else. Whatever they become, it’s up to her as much as him.

 

He just doesn’t know what the hell she wants, and all he wants is to see her, to hear her laugh in person and possibly even give her a hug. He’s not even aiming for a kiss at this point. How can he miss someone he’s only met once?

 

Once his fitting is finished, he changes back into jeans and a flannel shirt for rehearsals, shooting for the first episode not really beginning until tomorrow after they get through this final day of practice.

 

It’s the end of February, the first half of the series is nearly finished, when he gets a call from Emma. They haven’t really been able to talk the past few days, the time difference and his work hours causing them to only exchange a few texts, so when her name and a picture from the gala pop up on his screen, he nearly breaks his phone, catching it in the air before it hits the marble of his kitchen counter.

 

“Hi, Swan” he breathes, his lips twitching upward.

 

He’s got to look like an idiot smiling to himself, but he lives alone. No one will ever know. Well, Liam and his damn older brother tendencies might now. He’s been on him like a hawk ever since Christmas Eve, especially because Killian refuses to tell him anything. His brother is nosy, but it’s only because he cares. Killian’s been hurt enough by women, not to mention how much he resents his father for leaving them and their sick mother, and Liam’s taken it up on himself to be his protector. He means well, but after Milah and how broken he’d been, Liam’s taken it to the next level. He knows that women will take advantage of him for his fame in the same way that people who try to be his friend will. It’s why he’s been single for awhile, and he keeps his mates to Liam, Robin, and Will, people he’s known and trusted for years.

 

But he knows that Emma is different. She’s obviously a fan, something he somehow forgets about most of the time, and while he’s never considered dating a fan before, he would with Emma.

 

He also knows that Liam would be up his arse about it.

 

The fact that Liam never mentioned the photos of he and Emma outside of her front door is a bloody miracle. Liam either never saw them or chose not to talk about it. God does he hope it was the first one.

 

“Um, hi. Why do you sound out of breath?”

 

“Because you take my breath away, love.”

 

“Oh wow, I can’t tell if that was good or bad.”

 

“It was good, darling.” He walks from his kitchen to his living room, settling down into his favorite recliner and stretching out. “How are you?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m on my way home from the gym. Did you not have filming today?”

 

“Day off, and I haven’t changed out of my pajamas. It’s bloody wonderful.”

 

“Lazy ass.”

 

“Smart arse.”

 

“Anyways,” she continues, several horns beeping behind her. He checks his watch and realizes that it’s eight in the evening in Boston. She must have had a late day at work. “I’m calling because I have some news.”

 

His heart rate picks up, and something lodges in his chest. She sounds happy, but he doesn’t know what her news could be. All he can think is that she’s begun dating someone, which she has every right to, but it would break his heart a little bit.

 

“What news?”

 

“So apparently, I haven’t taken enough vacations days, and I’ll lose them if I don’t use them by the end of the quarter, which is the end of March. So I was thinking, if it’s okay with you, that I might finally take you up on that offer of us seeing each other again. I know you said you’d be the one hopping on a plane, but I’d kind of like to see California.”

 

It's…this is…damn. This is everything he’s wanted for the past few months, and he can’t believe it’s happening. He’s going to see Emma, and it’s not going to be through a video screen.

 

“Swan, I’d be thrilled. You can stay with me. I mean, if you’re okay with that. You don’t have to stay with me if you’d rather stay somewhere else. And I can show you around all of the good places or the tourist traps. It doesn’t matter. Oh fuck.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m filming all through March.”

 

“I know,” she sighs before cursing out someone under her breath, “but maybe we could hang out between filming. I don’t want to impose, so it’s fine if this is a bad time. I’ll just lounge around my apartment for a week if it is. It’ll be great. Just an entire week of laziness.”

 

“Emma, no,” he practically begs, hoping that she can’t hear his heart beating through the telephone and the miles between them. “Tell me the dates, and you can come. We’ll make it work.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Absolutely.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have given up all pretenses of this being a four or five part story. It's just going to be however long it is :D

“Okay, so explain this to me,” Ruby begins while Mary Margaret helps her fold several of her tee shirts and tank tops.

 

“Explain what?”

 

Ruby groans behind her, and when Emma turns around, she can see that Ruby’s eyes have practically rolled to the back of her head. She’s eating a bag of chips, the crumbs falling on the floor, and all Emma can think about is the fact that she’s going to have to vacuum up all of those before she leaves. She’s by no means a neat freak, but she doesn’t want ants or anything else coming into her apartment while she’s gone.

 

“For someone so smart, you really are a dumb blonde sometimes.”

 

“Ruby,” Mary Margaret chastises, her mom voice usually saved for Leo in full effect, “be nice.”

 

“I wasn’t talking to you, preggo.”

 

“I know, but you shouldn’t say things like that to our friend. But Emma, you really are being dumb right now. She’s obviously asking you to explain your sudden trip. Because you never go anywhere.”

 

“Hey, rude Marg.” She slaps Mary Margaret’s shoulder, knowing that it’s not going to harm her almost non-existent baby bump. She’d announced her pregnancy at Christmas, and she’s barely grown any in the two and a half months since. It’s almost unfair. “And I’m not dumb.”

 

“Okay, so maybe you’re not dumb but – ”

 

“ – but you’re avoiding the conversation we’re trying to have.”

 

“It’s because she’s going to see her boyfriend and doesn’t want to talk about it.”

 

“If my boyfriend was that hot, I’d want to talk about it all of the time.”

 

“I’d want to talk about going to California for the price of a plane ticket.”

 

“Do you think they’ll fuck?”

 

“Ruby!”

 

“Sorry. Do you think they’ll sleep together?”

 

“Hey,” Emma yells, throwing a balled up pair of socks at Ruby, which she catches before they hit her, “I am right here. You two are being ridiculous.”

 

“We’re just curious. Come on, Ems. This is the most exciting thing to happen to us in forever. And MM’s is knocked up, and I’m in a relationship. We’re boring now. You’re exciting.”

 

“Well, according to the two of you, I’m in a relationship so – ”

 

Ruby and Mary Margaret both level her with stares, their eyes practically cutting into her skin, and she feels her face heat. This entire conversation has been the slightest bit mortifying, but she knew it was coming the moment Ruby asked her if she was going to use up the rest of her vacation days before they lapsed and she told her that she was going to California to visit Killian. And then Ruby told Mary Margaret, and now they’re here helping her pack. Ruby keeps trying to put lingerie in her suitcase, and no matter how many times she takes it out, it somehow pops back up. There’s no need for her to bring any nice bras, but Ruby and Mary Margaret don’t seem to understand that.

 

“Fine,” Emma sighs, slumping down onto her mattress and stretching out over all of Mary Margaret’s carefully folded clothes, “I’ll talk. What do you guys want to know?”

 

“I want to know if you’re going to sleep with him.”

 

“I want to know if you’re going to tell him you like him.”

 

“Not going to sleep with him, and I don’t like him. We’re friends.” She knows they’re staring at her again, but she doesn’t care. Okay, she cares, but there’s nothing she can do about it. “Okay, so I don’t know what we are. It’s confusing and terrifying, but I can justify everything if I say we’re friends. Me getting on a plane to go see someone I have feelings for just sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

 

She feels more than sees Mary Margaret’s hand grab hers, squeezing tightly before her thumb rubs soothing circles into Emma’s palm. “Emma, it’s going to be wonderful. You deserve to be happy.”

 

“I know. I’m just…nervous.” She slaps her arm over her mouth and groans into it. “Where the hell did I get the idea to go to LA? I should have just stayed home and never said anything.”

 

“You’re going,” Ruby and Mary Margaret say at the same time, and she knows if she doesn’t voluntarily get on that plane, they’ll strap her down and put her on it.

 

Probably in the cargo hold.

 

Suddenly her economy ticket is sounding much better.

 

* * *

 

It takes nearly seven hours for her to get to LAX, the guy next to her sleeping the entire time, and while it’s only ten in L.A., it’s one in the morning for her. She’s exhausted, her skin feels like it might just flake off it’s so dry, and she’s pretty sure she either smells like airplane or the body odor of the guy next to her. She also really, really wants something to eat.

 

Killian had insisted on picking her up from the airport so that she didn’t have to pay for a ride, and while she tried to refuse, she knew that he wouldn’t listen. They may have an unconventional relationship…or friendship…or something, but you can really get to know someone through texts and phone calls and their taste in memes. Killian’s a little behind on those, but he’s also a hell of a lot busier than she is. She also works with kids, so that helps her meme knowledge.

 

How is this a thought process that she’s having to go through?

 

She knows that he’s stubborn as hell, that his brother is his best friend (or “mate” as he’d say), that said brother has an almost one-year old named Aiden with his Nordic wife Elsa, his favorite movie of all time is Die Hard (“you like what you like, Swan”), his favorite color is black because he was pretty dramatic as a teenager and felt like black was rebellious, he loves reading books about history, he has a boat named the Jolly Roger, he hates running so his personal trainer makes him do it extra, and he likes his salads with vinaigrette dressing but he would always rather be eating steak.

 

She had a lot of time to think on the plane, the speaker on her television screen not working, and it was either make up her own dialogue, think about her conversation with Ruby and Mary Margaret, plan out her next few weeks at work, or apparently, try to think of every single thing she knows about Killian Jones. Or Killian Andrew Jones. She knows that’s his middle name.

 

She knows a hell of a lot more, but it’s kind of hard for her mind to keep running through the Killian Jones encyclopedia when she’s actually looking for Killian Jones in real life instead of just through her phone. He’d texted a picture of himself, a black baseball cap pulled low over his head so that she could barely see his eyes. He looked tired, the lines in his face a little more prominent and his scruff a full on short beard, the ginger in it prominent (she also knows that he moved here from England when he was eighteen and his mom had red hair), but he had a bright smile on his face.

 

Baggage claim is packed despite the late hour, and as soon as she gets her bag, hauling the red suitcase off the conveyor belt, she spots a man standing in the corner next to the check in kiosks. He’s got on dark jeans, his legs crossed over each other as he leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his black sweater stretching with the movement. He hasn’t seen her yet, and so she’s not at all ashamed of the smile that breaks out across her face or the way that her heart starts pounding in her chest. She’s got no idea what she and Killian are, no idea really what she wants them to be, but she rolls her suitcase toward, him, drops it, and throws her arms around him the moment she gets to him.

 

He’s warm against her, and his arms wrap around her almost immediately, pulling her closer so that their bodies are pressed together. She had no idea how good it would be to actual feel Killian, to see him in person and be able to smell the cologne that she also knows that he wears. But it feels so damn good, and she practically buries her head in his neck and lets his beard rub into her while his hands rub up and down her back in soothing circles.

 

This is so much better than texting. There’s not even a real comparison.

 

“Did you miss me, love?”

 

“I missed my swan mug.”

 

He barks out a laugh, and she feels the vibrations run through her entire body. “So now I know your true intent for coming to visit. It wasn’t about using your vacation days at all.”

 

“Maybe,” she murmurs into his neck before pulling back and taking a step away from him, but his hands fall and linger at her hips, staying a moment too long before falling to his sides. “But I was also promised a tour of California and of a big time Hollywood set. And maybe I also get to see you.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Absolutely. I did miss you, Jones.”

 

She did. That’s not a lie. Her feelings are confused and all over the place, but she’s missed him.

 

He practically beams at her, and while she knows that he’s exhausted – that she is too – it all kind of fades away right there. She likes him, and she was kidding herself if she ever thought she was going to feel otherwise, especially after seeing him again.

 

Okay, so maybe her feelings aren’t confused in that aspect. Everything else is just really, truly confusing. There’s no guideline for this, and she’s never been the best at dating. Hell, she’s been awful at it if her track record says anything.

 

Getting to know him through texting and calls kept a barrier between them, an entire country really, but now, without any barrier, it’s terrifying. He’s here and real and not just some voice on the other end of the line.

 

Killian steps away from the wall, grabbing onto her suitcase handle, and tells her to follow him to his car, the airport crowd thinning out the further they walk away from baggage claim. He drives an Audi SUV, and her beaten down yellow bug kind of feels like junk right now. But it’s her junk, and Killian’s never looked down on her for their differences. She also kind of forgot that he was someone other than Killian, that he was an actor who has all of this…success. That’s all she could focus on the night they met, even more so with all of the craziness that came after, but then he called her office and that started to fade away. Not entirely, but it did fade. Killian may not care about their differences, but she’s still cautious. She likes him, but she’s cautious. It’s fine while they’re friends, but if they were to become more, which a voice in her head that sounds a lot like Ruby and Mary Margaret is telling her they will, she doesn’t know how she’ll handle the differences in lifestyles. Or how he will.

 

“Hey, Killian?”

 

“Yes, love?”

 

“Can we get something to eat before we get to your house?”

 

“Burgers?”

 

“You’re my hero.”

 

When she wakes the next morning, it takes her at least thirty seconds to realize where she is, the fluffy white comforter as unfamiliar to her as the beige walls and ocean view outside of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s still dark outside, but her phone says that it’s eight in the morning, so she crawls out of bed, not caring to change out of her shorts and tee shirt, before stumbling out of her room and walking down Killian’s hallway until she finds the staircase. She doesn’t know what she expected when she thought about his house because she honestly didn’t think too much about it. It’s nice, but it’s not overly nice, just a simple brick home in a gated community on the beach. Okay, so the words “simple” and “on the beach” don’t really go together, but it’s nothing like all of the houses she sees of actors on TV. There’s only three bedrooms, one which is designated for Aiden when he stays over, and so she has no trouble finding the staircase and wandering into the kitchen, warm chestnut cabinets with white marble counter tops. It’s probably the size of her apartment, and even if she doesn’t really cook, she could live in here.

 

The coffee maker is front and center next to the fridge and knowing Killian and his anal ways, she’s in no way surprised when she finds the coffee mugs, a collection of themed ones he’s likely collected over the years, in the cabinet just above the maker, each of them perfectly aligned with the handle facing outward. She grabs one with the picture of a yacht on it before prepping the coffee, waiting for it to percolate while she looks in the fridge for something to eat.

 

It’s only when the maker beeps and she gets a look at the green block numbers at the top of it that she realizes her phone is still on eastern time and that it’s only five in the morning here. Shit. She should go back to bed, but the coffee smells so damn good that it seems so much better than sleep. So she gets her coffee, letting the scent of it consume her before the first drop even touches her tongue, and grabs the hamburger she never ate last night before wandering down the hallway and settling into the living room and watching Netflix with her coffee and cold hamburger.

 

Not the best choice of breakfast, but who cares? She’s on vacation.

 

Killian comes downstairs around nine…or six. She really needs to change her phone’s clock while she’s here. He’s already dressed in joggers and a pullover that clings to him and makes her entire body pulse thinking about the muscles underneath.

 

“G’morning, love.” He bends down to press a kiss against her forehead, and her cheeks immediately blush. “What are you doing up? And eating your dinner from last night, I see.”

 

“I’m all messed up with the time change. Why are you awake, though? Your sleeping schedule shouldn’t be all warped.”

 

He sits down on the coffee table in front of her, joining his hands and resting them in his lap. “I’ve got work today, remember? I have to be on set in an hour.”

 

“Oh, yeah sorry. I forgot.”

 

“It’s okay. I was just going to leave you a note, but you’re awake so I’ll just tell you all of the stuff now.”

 

“What stuff?”

 

“Stuff like I likely won’t be home until eight at the earliest. You can help yourself to literally anything in the house. You’ll probably just want to relax today, but if you leave the house, you can take my car.”

 

“Won’t you be taking your car?”

 

He holds up two fingers. “I have two. So you can take it and go exploring. I can leave you a list of restaurants or you can just go by the takeout menus I have in the kitchen. Call if you need anything else. I don’t know when I’ll be able to answer, but I will answer eventually. And I’ll leave you a note about the security system so you don’t accidentally set it off.”

 

“That’s a lot of information, but I think I’m just going to stick around here. Maybe go to the beach. Maybe take advantage of how comfortable this chair is.”

 

“That’s my chair, darling.”

 

“Is it?” She stretches out and burrows herself further into the recliner, winking at him which only causes him to shake his head back and forth, his hair flopping around all over the place in its messy state. “I think I might claim it for the week.”

 

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s just not going to work. I’m sitting in that chair when I come home tonight whether you’re in it or not.”

 

Suddenly all she can think about is Killian sitting in this chair while she rides him, and the blush that was on her cheeks multiplies tenfold, her entire body feeling like it’s on fire. She really hopes that Killian doesn’t notice, but he raises an eyebrow at her. Damn.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing. It’s just that you’ve gone red.”

 

She shrugs, every possible lie she should be able to think of failing her at this moment. “It…happens.”

 

Killian chuckles before reaching forward and patting her leg. “I’ll see you later, darling. Have a good day.”

 

She ends up turning off all of the lights in Killian’s living room and grabbing this absolutely giant fleece blanket he has in a basket of other presumably giant fleece blankets before crawling back into the recliner and going back to watching TV. Killian’s got Starz, which she most definitely doesn’t have, and it makes sense that he has that since the show he’s filming is on that channel.

 

God, what a weird statement that is.

 

This is all so weird, and it’s all because she got almost drunk and lost a bet with Ruby.

 

Eventually she falls asleep, only waking up when her stomach literally rumbles her awake, and she wanders back into the kitchen, going through Killian’s fridge again. This morning, she didn’t realize how…organized everything about it is. And how healthy. Everything is lined up and sectioned off by type of food or drink. It looks like a magazine. A magazine for health and refrigerator organization but a magazine nonetheless.

 

Pulling out her phone she finds Killian’s text chain.

 

**Emma Swan: Where is all of your junk food, KJ?**

 

Instead of a text back, her phone starts ringing, a selfie he sent her of him after getting aged on set popping up.

 

“First of all,” he begins, not even bothering to say hi, “when did you start calling me KJ? I kind of like it, ES.”

 

“ES doesn’t have the same ring to it as KJ.”

 

“Aye, aye. I know. And as for junk food, I’ve got some stuff for you in the freezer and the pantry.”

 

“Did you buy food specifically for me?”

 

“I did.”

 

“Well, don’t I feel special?”

 

“You should.”

 

She really, really does, especially when she walks into the pantry and sees boxes of chips and cookies, all labeled with a sticky note that says “for Emma.” She grabs a packet of pretzels and walks back out, remembering to turn the light out before she hops up onto the kitchen counter and turns her call on speaker so she can eat her food.

 

“What are you doing so that you can call me back?”

 

“Lunch break.” She hears him turn off the music that was playing in the background, and she fills the lack of sound with her chewing. “What have you been doing?”

 

“Sleeping. Jet lag is a bitch. But I’m resting up so that we can do something tonight, even if you get home at some God awful hour. Why is filming such odd hours?”

 

“Because something always goes wrong, and you never get anything on the first take.”

 

“Sounds like you’re not very good at your job.”

 

“Oi, love, watch your mouth.” There’s a loud knock at Killian’s door, one that she can hear through the phone. “I’ve got to go, Swan. I’ll see you tonight.”

 

After she fixes herself something to eat, the pretzels just not cutting it, she changes clothes, slipping on a pair of shorts and a thin sweater before grabbing her headphones and walking out to the beach. It’s hot, the weather completely opposite to how it is in Boston right now. At home, she still has to wear a heavy coat and boots, the snow often still coating the ground in March. But here, it’s seventy degrees with the sun shining down, and while other people she spots on the beach are more bundled up than she is, this is perfect to her.

 

It takes her awhile to figure out that she’s walking on a private beach, the fact that there’s only been three of those bundled up people in her twenty-minute walk finally cluing her in. Of course this is a private beach. Killian lives in a gated community. They wouldn’t just give beach access to anyone. Hell, those people she saw probably called the cops because a stranger was walking on their beach.

 

She doesn’t care, though, and she lets the sand sink between her toes and the salt of the ocean breeze sink into her skin while she continues to walk along the shoreline. The water is cold when it hits her feet, but the longer she walks, the more she gets used to it. A part of her thinks she should be out doing something in Los Angeles, exploring Rodeo Drive or the Santa Monica Pier which is only a few miles down the road from htere, anything touristy that she can think of. Or just driving somewhere and then exploring. No one has recognized her from the bet video or the photographs since before Christmas, and she really doubts anyone cares anymore. It’s been months, and the next internet craze has come and gone, thankfully leaving her somewhere in the dust.

 

When her legs start to burn from walking on the uneven sand, she turns around and heads back to the house, getting there after an hour more of walking and typing in the security code so that the cops don’t get called to Killian’s house. She’s sandy everywhere, the grainy dirt somehow making its way to her hair and in her shorts, so she heads upstairs and strips out of her clothes before hoping in the shower, letting it have the same calming and cooling effect as this entire day has had on her. She doesn’t bother changing into real clothes afterward, slipping into pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt and letting her hair dry naturally before padding back downstairs and exploring Killian’s bookshelves. She knows that he probably wouldn’t mind her exploring the entire house, but something feels wrong about going through his things that aren’t in the common areas.

 

But he’s got this bookshelf in his living room, it’s an entire wall of them really, each of them painted white and matching the overall beach house look he’s got going on here. She wonders if Killian had someone decorate his house or if he did it himself. She kind of thinks that he did it himself if all of the trinkets lining his books are any indication. She’s pretty sure he’s got every kind of genre of novel in here, from historical to non-fiction to sci-fi. She even sees a few cookbooks, which should definitely be in the kitchen, but whatever. The man can organize his books however he wants.

 

It’s as she’s flipping through one of said cookbooks, trying to find inspiration that she wants for dinner, when she hears the front door slam and the beeping of the security system begin and fade away all within one minute. Her heart begins beating quickly in her chest, not knowing who’s coming in the door until she sees Killian walk in, still dressed in the outfit he was wearing this morning but with his hair gelled back so that it lays flat on his head.

 

“Swan, why do you look as if you’ve just seen a ghost?”

 

“Because you’re home early, and I had no idea who was walking through the door.”

 

He chuckles before stepping forward, his hand reaching out before he takes it back and it rests at his side. Was he about to hug her? Why did he decide against it?

 

“Aye, I know. Despite what you think, I’m bloody good at my job, and we got finished early. And,” he settles down on the arm of the couch, smiling up at her, “I don’t have to go in until five tomorrow evening. You know what that means?”

 

“You’re going to have a late night tomorrow?”

 

“A bloody blasted late night, but it means I can take you to go do something. So come on, Swan. I’ve got your for nearly twenty-four hours. Let’s make the best of it.”

 

“Don’t you need to go to bed at some point?”

 

“Why, love, I thought you’d never ask me to bed. Don’t stand on ceremony next time.”

 

They end up ordering Chinese food for dinner after about an hour of debating the pros and cons of all of Killian’s other takeout menus or him cooking them something. She told him they can cook another night, telling him all about the cinnamon roll casserole she found in one of his cookbooks, and then they finally decided that they couldn’t go wrong with Chinese food. So now they’re sitting on Killian’s back porch with cartons of Chinese food in front of them with the ocean cresting in the background. She’s stuffed, her stomach not able to take anymore, but Killian continues to shovel food in his mouth.

 

“How are you possibly eating so much?”

 

“This is the first meal I’ve had without greens in it in weeks, love. Let a man have this.”

 

She sticks a green pepper in her chicken with a fork and holds it out to him, waving it around. Without prompting, he leans forward and takes a bite, his eyes lingering on hers just long enough for something other than hunger to pool in her belly. But she’s not going there, not yet, and she has to look away while Killian eats the pepper.

 

Hot damn feels like an accurate statement here.

 

“You…uh, you get your greens now?”

 

“I did,” he hums before digging back into the rice he was working on. “So, what do you want to do tomorrow, Swan?”

 

“What can we do? Don’t you have to be careful about where you go?”

 

He shrugs and smiles, his eyes crinkling. “You’d be surprised what I can get away with. But yeah, I do. But tell me what you want to do, and we’ll do it.”

 

“I don’t know,” she admits, curling her legs under her in the chair she’s sitting on. “I guess just show me some of your favorite things. I didn’t really have much of a plan. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a vacation.”

 

“Well, love, we’ll have to make it a good one then.”

 

He bangs on her bedroom door and wakes her up at the ass crack of dawn the next morning. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and when she opens her eyes, she sees him already dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, staring down at her with a grin that she both finds attractive and wants to smack off of his face. Does this man not sleep?

 

“Come on, Swan. We’re going to breakfast.”

 

He takes it to a small hole in the wall café near his house. They don’t even have to drive, walking down the sidewalks until they’re out of his neighborhood and wandering along the highway. Everything here is so different than Boston. There are palm trees and sunshine and all she can smell is the beach. She loves it, but she also loves Boston and the way she knows practically every inch of the city and where the loose cobblestones are down by the harbor. But she’s on vacation, and she’s not going to think about home or the fact that she has to go back in six days.

 

When they get to the café, he opens the door for her, and when she messes with him about it, he tells her that he’s always a gentleman, and despite the cocky way he says it, she believes him. There’s only a few people in here, but Killian still settles in the back booth, sliding in and purposefully facing away from everyone but her. She can’t imagine living a life where you have to constantly worry about people watching you. Her fifteen minutes of noteworthiness were enough for her. Killian’s likely got an entire lifetime.

 

But she soon forgets about all of that as soon as she eats the blueberry waffles and Killian eats his eggs. She’s going to have to run for several miles to work off all of the food she’s going to eat this week, but this is so damn good. Maybe she should get a to-go order for later. After breakfast he shows her around the neighborhood, all of the places he frequents, waving to a couple of neighbors and people he knows. It’s…normal. And it’s fun. And she most definitely likes Killian. She knew that, but spending the morning with him keeps reigniting the fact in her brain.

 

Really, really likes him as if she’s in middle school and is having a crush for the first time.

 

But it’s not the first time she’s had a crush. Far from it. And this isn’t really a crush. This is feelings, and it’s a hell of a lot of a bigger deal than anything she’s experienced in years.

 

This is not what was supposed to happen when she asked him out on a date. He was supposed to never respond or decline or do something other than accepting. He wasn’t supposed to show up and let her have a good time and then kiss her. The only thing about that day that made any sense was him running away the next morning. But then he called and apologized and then apologized several more times over the past two months, effectively turning everything upside down again.

 

She should have had something other than coffee to drink at breakfast. The caffeine is not helping how jittery she feels.

 

“Hey, Swan?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How do you feel about spending the rest of the day out on the beach?”

 

She feels like that’s a great way for her to be distracted by a shirtless Killian, but she also feels like maybe lounging on the sand today will be as relaxing as walking around was yesterday. And she definitely needs some of the alcohol that’s back at Killian’s house.

 

“I’d like that.”


	4. Chapter Four

Remnants of ocean spray hit him as he drives them away from shore, the salt catching in his eyes while he focuses on the headlights of his boat and guiding them to where he wants to anchor for dinner. He’d wanted to do this during the daylight so that Emma could see the sun glistening on the ocean, but the one time he’d been free during the day had gotten away from them spending it on the beach before Emma mentioned she’d never seen Star Wars.

 

That just wouldn’t do.

 

He’d been remised to see Emma go inside and change out the absolutely sinful red bikini she had on (damn, those were some wonderful tiny pieces of fabric), but he couldn’t let the lass go anymore without watching Star Wars. He’s got various feelings on the movies, ones which he held back, but they’re classics. She can’t have not seen then, so he had to rectify it before he headed off to work that day.

 

So they’d thrown on some lounge clothes – but he knew that Emma kept her bikini on from the red string on her exposed shoulder from the oversized sweater she had on – and settled into his living room, diming the lights and closing the curtains to watch the movies. They didn’t talk much, not more than him answering questions, but they didn’t have to. She became enraptured with the movies, though she did keep getting up to go get something to eat without caring if she missed some of the movie, and he’d pause and wait for her to come back. Every time she got up and came back, he swears she sat a little closer to him on the couch. For awhile, he convinced himself that he was imagining things, but then her shoulders brushed his and her feet kept bumping into his.

 

He might have been going crazy, but he was pretty sure that Emma was doing it on purpose. It was like he was an awkward teenager hanging out with a girl while Liam wasn’t in the house, but he is a thirty-two year old man in his own home…with the girl he likes.

 

Likes.

 

Loves.

 

It’s one of those two.

 

Likely leaning toward the second option the more time he spends with her.

 

He’s gotten to know her through texts, phone calls, and ridiculous videos, things he never realized could bring him so close to a practical stranger. They’ve become intimate without actually being intimate, and honestly, he kind of prefers it that way. He’s been betrayed and wronged so many times by people who he doesn’t get to know first before fully leaping in, and while this has all been kind of a gamble, he thinks he might have come out on top with a winning hand.

 

Or maybe he’s getting there.

 

He had to go to work eventually, the show sending him a driver so he wasn’t driving home in the morning dead on his feet, and he left Emma with the movies. When he came home around six the next morning for a short break between filming, Emma was conked out on the couch, fast asleep with the television still on and her body half hanging off the couch. He was tempted to move her, but he honestly wasn’t sure if she’d want that or if his tired body would be able to. So he’d padded upstairs and gone to sleep himself before getting up four hours later and heading back to work.

 

His day had been impossibly long, most of the scenes he filmed full of swordfights and running back and forth between sets, but Emma spent her day exploring Santa Monica and asked if he’d be willing to take them out on the ocean when he got home from work. He really wanted to sleep, but he only gets these few days with her. He can suck it up and not be tired.

 

Turning the key in the ignition, he powers down the boat and anchor it to its spot before walking around to where Emma’s sitting in the sunken seats at the bow, her lips wrapped around the neck of a bottle of beer. Is it ridiculous to think that he’s jealous of the bottle? He thinks it is, but then he remembers how Emma’s lips feel, soft and warm, as well as how they taste, like the red wine she’d had to drink that night along with the chocolate dessert the caterers had served at the Christmas gala. Now they’d probably still be soft and warm, but he’s sure they’d taste like salt and beer, an entirely different yet no less desirable combination.

 

Maybe more desirable since he truly knows Emma now.

 

He feels his cock twitch in his jeans, and he has to calm himself, thinking of anything and everything undesirable – artichokes, the workouts his trainer is going to kill him with after taking a week off, Liam and Elsa doing…anything – before settling down on the cushion next to Emma and propping his feet up against hers. He stares out at the darkness of the ocean, which is the smallest bit more blue by the light of the moon and the stars, and he just breathes it all in.

 

This is his happy place if he’s ever had one, and he likes sharing it with someone else other than his family more than he thought he would.

 

“This is nice,” Emma sighs before taking another sip of her beer, a drop of liquid running loose and landing on her chin that he can’t help but want to lick… _woah, down boy_. If he wasn’t driving on so little sleep, he’d take one of those in an instant to try to dull his heightened senses. “You know, I’ve never been on a boat before. I mean, like, I’ve been out to the docks and near all of the sailboats in the harbor, but I’ve never actually been, you know…”

 

She motions to the water around them, and he chuckles, getting her meaning. “Well, love, you never forget your first.”

 

“Shut up,” she giggles, reaching back and slapping his chest. “Some people do want to forget their first.”

 

“Why, love? It didn’t get the boat a’rocking? Waves weren’t made? There were rough waters?”

 

He accentuates his words with a waggle of his eyebrows and a swivel of his hips, but when he expects Emma to continue her laughter, she doesn’t. Instead her features are focused on the label of her beer, picking at the damp paper and flicking it away. Her immediate change in demeanor worries him, and while he doesn’t want to overstep their boundaries, he can’t help but ask.

 

“Swan, you okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves him away before twisting so that she’s facing him, wisps of her hair falling out of her braid, “I was just thinking about firsts.”

 

“Boat rides?”

 

“Boyfriends. Or loves really.”

 

“Oh, um, I don’t…” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear, trying for the life of him to think of something to say. He has nothing. He basically speaks for a living, devouring words on a daily basis, and suddenly he can’t think of his own.

 

“It’s…I don’t expect you to say anything, and I don’t mean to be Debbie Downer or Emma Emotional or whatever but – ”

 

“Wait. Emma Emotional?”

 

“Just go with it,” she laughs, the smallest of smiles tugging up on her lips. “I have a horrible history with relationships. Not a one has worked out, obviously, or else I imagine I probably wouldn’t be here with you…not that this is a, uh, um a – ”

 

He reaches forward and grabs her forearm, squeezing even as his heart rate picks up. “Go on, love.”

 

“His name was Neal,” she restarts, shocking him even if he knew where this was going, “and he was the first person to ever love me but at least the tenth to ever leave me if you include my real parents and foster parents and the couple who almost adopted me until they had their own miracle baby. And while all of those things screwed me up, I don’t think anything screwed me up as badly as having someone love me and then just disappear into thin air only to pop up five years later with a wife and two kids who were definitely his and definitely older than five.”

 

What an arsehole.

 

“He’s a fool.”

 

“I know that…now.” She smiles when she says the last part, and like it’s instinct, he wraps his arm around her shoulder and tugs her into his side, holding back so that he doesn’t kiss her temple. “I just – I could never understand it, why people kept leaving me for other people. It’s like I was good enough for a moment and then I did something or said something and just wasn’t anymore.”

 

“Emma, when people leave us like you’ve been left, that’s not on you.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m the common factor. That’s got to mean something in the long run. The first person to ever stick around was Ruby and then Mary Margaret and David by extension. And while I know that logically they’re my friends and they love me, this voice in the back of my head that sounds a lot like Neal is telling me that they’re going to leave too. Shit, Neal didn’t even stay with me when he was with me. I was literally the mistress and didn’t know.”

 

His hand cautiously moves up and down her arm while the boat rocks beneath them. “It’s not your fault he was an arsehole. And your friends, they’re not going to leave.”

 

“How would you know?”

 

“They’re smart people. And I know you. No person worth their salt would be dumb enough to leave you.”

 

She sniffles against him before her hand reaches up to wipe away the stray tears that have fallen. Her head lifts from his shoulder, the loss of heat almost instant, before dropping back down again. This is not the conversation he was expecting to have tonight, but he feels honored that Emma would share with him.

 

“Me coming to see you is a big fucking deal, one that I’m not even sure how I made. I’m not…I don’t want to come off as weak or insecure because I’m not, but I almost backed out at least ten times.”

 

He rubs his hand up and down her arm before leaning his cheek against the top of hers. It’s…he can’t believe so many people have betrayed her. She doesn’t deserve that. No one does, but it happened to her.

 

“I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad you’re here.”

 

“I am, too.”

 

“Thank you for sharing that with me. I feel honored to get to know that much more about Emma Swan. I’m glad that you trusted me with all of that. I know that it means a lot.”

 

She’s silent for a moment before she twists against him. He thinks that she’s going to move away, but she doesn’t. Instead she wraps her arms around his waist and nuzzles herself into him. He can feel her everywhere, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to drop a kiss to her forehead.

 

“I’m sorry for bringing the mood down.”

 

“Don’t be. I promise another night I’ll share my sins and tragedies.”

 

“What a weird way to say that.”

 

“I’m actually pretty sure it’s a line in my filming for tomorrow.”

 

“Wow, can’t even come up with his own lines. Classy, dude.”

 

“Okay, so one day when the mood is light, I’ll tell you about my messed up childhood and fucked up exes. And then you’ll know almost all that you need to know about me.”

 

She laughs against his chest, pulling him a little closer as her hair begins to fly in his face, getting caught in his eyes and his mouth. God, how does she have so much hair? It’s like it’s constantly growing.

 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

“My name is Killian, love.”

 

“Yeah but nothing rhymes with that.”

 

He laughs against her head before pressing another kiss there. He wonders if she feels a weight lifted off her shoulder or if she feels heavier. He hopes that it’s the former and that her secrets and past that have been weighing her down fall away into the waves. Maybe he should do the same.

 

“Hey, love?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I was the other woman too.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“Other man,” he weakly chuckles, trying to concentrate and not flounder his words. “It was, well, I said another night I’d tell you, but I can’t not tell you now. You’re important to me, and you’re not alone in any of this. I was twenty-five, had just landed my first big role, and I met a woman, Milah. Beautiful, vibrant, but also married with a child. I just didn’t know it at the time. I found out because her husband worked at my agency. And I almost didn’t care, was almost willing to still see her because I loved her so much, but then I overheard her on the phone talking about me as if I was some plaything.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

He hears no pity or rage in her voice, all of the things he heard from Liam and Elsa when he told them, Robin and Will too. It was just two words, but she understands. He knows that she does from what she’s said, but he feels like she would even if she didn’t.

 

“Me too, love. But I think it’s all okay. We’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

 

“I mean, I don’t own a boat, but I’ve got a rocking shoe collection.”

 

“Shoes are obviously better than boats.”

 

“I think so, too. Are we ever going to have dinner?”

 

They eat dinner where they are, spreading the food out over the seats between them and devouring it while boats and ships move around them and back to shore. Conversation is much lighter, carefree, and he finds himself nearly forgetting the fact that they began to bare parts of their souls to each other. This week has been one of the best he’s had in a long time, and it’s moving far too quickly for his liking. But right now, sitting with Emma out on the ocean being gently rocked by the waves beneath them, time might as well be standing still.

 

He docks the boat around one in the morning, his feet dragging behind him and Emma’s arm around his waist as he guides her back to the car so he can drive them home. It’s only a short drive from his house to the marina, and it’s one that he usually walks, but when he pulls into his garage ten minutes later, he’s glad to have taken this route. Emma yawns as they walk into the house, kicking her shoes off in his kitchen and leaving them there instead of neatly placing them on the shoe rack. That’s one of the things he’s learned about Emma this week. She’s messy. It’s not an unbearable messy, but it’s definitely not how he is. It’s probably an aftereffect of living in foster homes for her entire life and being scared to leave a single item out of place, and now that she has her own home, she leaves her shoes places and doesn’t always fold her clothes. He internalized it another way, keeping his neat freak ways, but he’s gotten better about it lately. So no part of him minds when he kicks his sneakers off as well and leaves them jumbled up with Emma’s.

 

“What time do you have to go to work tomorrow…or today?”

 

“At nine,” he sighs, the drowsiness really beginning to hit him. “Do you…do you want to come with me?”

 

Her eyes light up, and it makes him a little less tired. “Really? I can actually come with?”

 

“Of course. It just means you have to wake up early.”

 

“I think I can do that.” She takes a step forward, her thumbs reaching and touching under his eyes, and he nearly sighs in relief at having her skin touch his. God, he’s pathetic. “You need to go to bed. You look exhausted.”

 

“That’s always what a man wants to hear.”

 

“Yeah, well, you need to hear it.” She pats his cheeks. “Time to go to bed.”

 

* * *

 

He hasn’t been this tired in years.

 

He wakes up and goes to work. After filming for at least twelve hours a day, he comes home and spends as much time as he can with Emma before crashing for about two hours and doing it all again. He’s used to this kind of a schedule when he’s filming, barely having time for anything but sleeping and eating, but he’s never had someone to come home to afterward. Okay, well, he’s not technically coming home to her. She’s just staying at his home, and he only has three more days with her including today…which is really two because she has to leave on Sunday.

 

So basically just tomorrow night and a little of Sunday morning.

 

That’s not a hell of a lot of time.

 

Really no time.

 

Shit.

 

This may very well be the fastest week of his life, and he just needs it to slow down.

 

But by some kind of stroke of luck and maybe a little bit of a southern California miracle, it’s raining, and every single outdoor scene they were going to film today is cancelled so they’re inside the studio. Emma’s with him today, sitting in a chair off in the corner with Robin chatting away while he films.

 

None of his friends knew Emma was coming in. Hell, none of his friends even really know about Emma. It’s not that he hasn’t wanted to tell them. He has. But he wasn’t sure exactly how to go about it. They’re friends, and he doesn’t exactly make an announcement to his other friends and family whenever he makes a new friend. That would be…odd. This entire thing is odd, and he’s going to sit down and talk to her about it tonight, especially since Robin unexpectedly showed up on set today.

 

And because he should have already. He already treated her poorly with the way that he left after their date back in December, and he can’t do something like that to her again. He might not be dating her – but he damn well wants to – but he cares about her. He doesn’t want to hurt her anymore than he already did.

 

Then Robin had shown up and immediately recognized Emma from the video of her online. He’d given Killian a curious look before plastering a smile on his face and shaking hands with Emma, telling her it was nice to meet her and then promptly asking if he had forgotten that he set up a fan engagement for her. Emma’s cheeks had gone red and her mouth had gaped open like she didn’t know what to say. That’s when he’d realized his mistake and promptly told Robin that he and Emma had been getting to know each other and she was here as his friend.

 

His phrasing was probably a mistake, too, and while he knows Robin is going to have a hell of a lot of questions when Killian’s done filming, he and Emma seem to be getting along.

 

That’s good because he’s not sure how exactly the conversations he has to have later are going to go.

 

When his scene is finishing filming, he walks over to Emma and Robin, who is animatedly using his hands as he talks to Emma.

 

“ – and he just falls on his arse. We had to ice it, and he was bloody black and blue for weeks. And to be frank, he was the biggest pain in the arse for an entire week.”

 

“Hey,” Killian laughs, already knowing Robin’s telling her about the time his harness broke on the set of one of his first gigs, “there’s no need to tell the lass about all of my most embarrassing moments.”

 

“Oh, Killian,” Emma sighs, popping up on her toes and wrapping her arm around his shoulder, “that’s all we’ve been talking about for the past two hours. I know all of your dirty little secrets.”

 

He shoots Robin a look, and the man simply shrugs. “You’re the one who brought a girl to set, mate. I can’t help that I had to entertain her.”

 

“You’re a bloody arse.”

 

“No, I think that’s apparently you.”

 

Robin barks out a laugh at Emma’s teasing, and he looks down at her to see her lips painted into a smirk while her eyebrow is practically raised to her hairline. She’s a bloody wonder, and he had no idea how nice it’d be to see her joking around with one of his friends. Gods, this week has been like some kind of dream, and he doesn’t even care that he’s the butt of the joke…pun intended.

 

“You’re being cheeky, love.”

 

“Again, that’s you.”

 

She rolls her eyes, and out of instinct, he leans down and kisses her temple. He lingers there for a moment, inhaling her scent, and only pulls back when he realizes that he’s just kissed her without thinking about it…again. Out on the boat last night was different. That was an emotionally charged night. This is a casual setting, and that was casual affection. It was her forehead and not her lips, but still. He doesn’t need to freak her out or make her run by caring too much. He doesn’t dare look at her after his lips leave her skin, but he hears her intake of breath and sees Robin’s questioning look.

 

“Are you…are you finished for the day? I was kind of thinking we could go get dinner or something.”

 

“I’ve got two more scenes, darling. Why don’t you walk over to craft services or my trailer and get something to eat? Just show them your credentials card, and you’ll be right jolly.”  
  
“Right jolly? What the hell, Jones?”

 

He laughs before pushing her away. “Go on, Swan.”

 

When she walks away, pulling the hood of her rain jacket over her head, he doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Robin smacks his shoulder, hitting right over the necklaces he has on so that the metal digs into his skin.

 

“Bloody hell,” he hisses, looking up to see Robin staring at him with an indignant look on his face, “what was that for?”

 

“What the hell are you doing bringing your video date here? Really? I know you two kissed and then shagged, but I had no idea that was still going on. Or that you were going to fly her out to California.”

 

“First of all, her name is Emma, and we did not shag, not that it’s any of your business. She’s a friend who I very much like, and we’ve been getting to know each other.”

 

“Why is she here?”

 

“She had to use up her vacation days before she lost them, and she asked if it would be alright to come visit.”

 

“And you just let her?”

 

He shrugs. “I wanted to see her.”

 

Robin studies him for a minute, and Killian tries to hold his gaze without squirming or blinking too much or scratching behind his ear. Robin knows all of his tells, and he can’t exactly hide much from his manager. Never has been able to, especially for how long they’ve known each other.

 

“Ah,” Robin sighs, crossing his arms over his chest before looking Killian up and down, “you’re in love with her.”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“It’s written all over your face. I should have seen it sooner.”

 

“Mate,” he hisses, gulping and trying to control the urge to spill all of his feelings right then and there, “I’m not in love with her. We’re friends. Don’t you have friends?”

 

He’s a damn liar, but he’s not about to tell someone else before he tells Emma. And he’s not sure he’ll ever get to tell Emma.

 

“I do. But I don’t kiss them on the forehead and mentally undress them with my eyes.”

 

Killian takes a step forward, laying a smacking kiss on Robin’s forehead before looking him up and down, making his smile as salacious as he possibly can. “Yeah, well, that’s what I do.”

 

Emma walks back in at the moment, her hands full of food in what looks like a Tupperware container. She must have run into Beth. The woman is always sending food home with people.

 

 “Don’t tell Liam about any of this.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I haven’t, and you know how he gets when I have a new girlfriend.”

 

“I thought she wasn’t your girlfriend.”

 

“Piss off. You know what I mean.”

 

“Hey,” Emma greets, a smile on her face while she balances all of the food, “look at all of this. This woman, Beth, just gave it all to me when I told her why I was here. You want some?”

 

“Uh, no, love. I’m good. Maybe later. I’ve got to go change in wardrobe. Why don’t you go hang out in my trailer until I’m finished for the day? It shouldn’t be too long.”

 

They get back to his house around ten that night, Emma still carting around the damn Tupperware containers, while he can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened today…and since the beginning of December really. It’s going to drive him mad to not talk about it, and he can’t very well let this all simmer inside of him for too much longer.

 

“What are we doing?”

 

“I’m putting away this food, but I don’t want to mess with your weirdly organized fridge.”

 

“No, Emma,” he tugs on her arm until she turns around, her face framed in the light of the refrigerator in the dimness of his kitchen, “what are we doing? You and me?”

 

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

 

“Are we acquaintances? Friends? Something else? Bloody hell, love. Do you want to kiss me again?”

 

Her lips part and her eyes widen before blinking, her bare blonde lashes moving against her cheekbones while she simply stares at him, a container of lasagna in her hand. Why the hell is he focusing on the lasagna? Why the hell did he just ask her if she wanted to kiss him again?

 

“I mean…what? Do I – I want to kiss you again.”

 

“Are you asking or are you saying?”

 

“S-saying.”

 

“So I can…”

 

Emma rolls her eyes before nodding, and he steps forward and cups her face, pulling her into him and capturing his lips with hers, everything that’s been upside down and all over the place this week righting itself as Emma’s soft and warms lips move against his and a whimper escapes her throat, the container of lasagna between them falling to the ground and breaking them out of their trance.

 

“That was – ”

 

“So much better than last time.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” she smiles, resting her forehead against his, her breath hotly brushing over his lips, “you want to fall asleep on the couch again and then run out of the house the next morning too?”

 

“Swan,” he hesitates, backing up from her but leaving a hand against her cheek, “I’m sorry about that. I know I’ve apologized until my face turned blue, but I can’t say it enough. I was a wanker.”

 

“And I was joking. I know that you’re sorry, but we’d just met. You didn’t owe me anything.”

 

“I owed you more than my exit.”

 

“Yeah, well, I think you have plenty of time to make up for it.”

 

He smiles, moving back against her, and then she kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chat on Tumblr at Let-it-Raines!


	5. Chapter Five

**Killian: Do you want to go out tonight?**

**Emma: Where?**

**Killian: I mean, I was thinking a casual night out. We grab something to eat, go to a quiet pub, have a nice time outside of the house for your last night.**

**Emma: Are you going to be too tired?**

**Killian: No. You’re going back to Boston tomorrow. I can sleep when you’re gone.**

**Emma: Alright, see you at home, I guess?**

**Killian: Yeah, see you at home, love.**

She falls back against her bed, stretching out on the mattress and closing her eyes as she smiles and her phone falls against the sheets. God, she’s dreaming. She has to be dreaming because she just doesn’t have things like this happen to her. Or maybe she’s simply in that new relationship (is that what this is?) stage where she’s giddy and happy and things are full of possibility. It’s like she’s walking on some kind of cloud, but really, she’s very solidly on the ground.

 

Mostly, she’s happy.

 

So damn happy.

 

Her phone goes off again, and she fumbles around on the mattress until she finds it.

 

**Ruby: Work is miserable without you. Please come home.**

**Emma: Miss me, did ya?**

**Ruby: Terribly. I’m never letting you leave again.**

**Emma: Pretty sure that’s kidnapping and is illegal.**

**Ruby: Yeah, well, I’m also going to murder Kathryn. I can’t handle her without you.**

**Emma: That’s illegal too.**

**Emma: I’ll be home soon. I promise.**

And there’s the kicker to her happiness. She has to go home. It’s not that she doesn’t want to go home. She does. She misses her shit-hole of an apartment, her friends, and even her job, but when she goes home, she’s going to miss Killian. Especially now that she’s been with him, talked to him, kissed him…it’s…there’s pros and cons either way.

 

But right now, she really doesn’t want to leave. She wants to stay, to make out with Killian some more, and maybe go back to that café and get more waffles. They were damn good waffles, he’s a damn good kisser, and this has been a damn good trip, better than she ever imagined really. Time is winding down and somehow speeding up, and she wants it all to stop for just a moment.

 

Or maybe just a night.

 

Or maybe just tonight.

 

She wanders down to the Santa Monica Pier that day, figuring she can’t very well be visiting there and not go to one of the most iconic sites in the city. It’s packed, people milling about everywhere, but she can’t complain, especially as the smells of salt and sand invade her senses. She’s a tourist just like everyone else, and she most definitely pays the nine bucks to ride on the ferris wheel and get views of the beach and the pier from above, taking pictures on her phone from her view up above. It’s beautiful, so different from Boston even with their similarities. Her friends would love this. Ruby would want to go shopping at all of the boutiques, Mary Margaret would want to take Leo on the rides even though he’s too small and take pictures of him holding a giant thing of cotton candy, and David would complain while secretly enjoying it.

 

She wonders if Killian has ever been down here. She should have asked when he mentioned it as something for her to do, but she just kind of assumed that he had. But now that she thinks about it, he might have just been listing things in the area. He’d like the views of the ocean, the way the water stretches out further than the eye can see, and she really hopes that one day he’ll get to do this if he hasn’t already.

 

When she comes back down to the ground, she finds something to eat, munching on a hot dog as she wanders further away from the pier and to all of the small boutiques, her eyes widening at the price range of all of these shirts. Hell, how do people buy any of this stuff? But then she finds a little place, kind of shabby from the outside, and it’s full of small antiques and knick knacks, all cheap and probably fake, but she’s kind of in love with the homemade jewelry and scarves.

 

So she buys a few long gold chains with pendants at the end, folding them away into her purse, and feeling like it’s been a good day in her adventures.

 

Even if she’s kind of regretting getting a hot dog when she could have literally eaten anything else.

 

* * *

 

Killian gets home from set around nine, charging into the house and pressing a quick kiss against her lips that leaves her reeling almost as much as him running upstairs to take a shower, yelling as he goes about her needing to be ready to go in twenty minutes. He just…he kissed her in greeting when he got home from work. That may very well be the most normal, boring thing that could have happened, but it’s not. She can’t remember the last time she had someone like that, and she’s not even sure that she has him now. She doesn’t know because they haven’t talked about it. Everything has just kind of happened.

 

But maybe that makes it better, more natural. Things have always felt so forced with guys in the past.

 

Pushing these thoughts down, she heads upstairs to her room and changes into some skinny jeans and a black tank top, the shirt flowing around her waist while the lace or her mustard bralette shows through the top. The ocean air has been helping to curl her hair while she’s been here, almost completely changing the texture of it, so she doesn’t bother doing anything to it. She simply flicks on some eyeliner and mascara before taking one last look in the mirror and heading out into the hallway only to collide with Killian, their bodies crashing together until her hands grab onto his biceps and his grab onto her sides right over her jeans.

 

“Hi.” His eyes are blown wide and always so blue. “You, uh, you ready to go?”

 

She nibbles on her bottom lip, and she smiles when Killian’s eyes flicker down to her lips. She presses up on her toes and moves her arms to wrap around his neck, their bodies coming together while her lips press against his for a lingering moment. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

 

He takes a moment too long to respond, his tan cheeks suddenly becoming flushed, and a sense of pride settles in her stomach. She did that to him with just a kiss. She has that kind of effect on him. This isn’t a one-sided thing. Not at all.

 

“Good,” he finally responds, pulling back and holding his arm out until she loops hers through his. “Let’s go then.”

 

Their Uber takes them to a bar downtown. It’s crowded, but she can already tell that it’s a relaxed place. The lights are dim, almost too dark, and a band plays in the corner of the room with plenty of tables filled with people listening along. She moves to sit at one of those tables when Killian shakes his head, the baseball cap he’s got on pulled low nearly hiding his eyes, and guides her to a table off in the corner of the room.

 

“You know, if you wanted to get me alone all you had to do was ask.”

 

He snickers under his breath before pulling her chair out for her and waiting for her to sit down. She does, scooting in while Killian moves to sit on the other side. “As much as I’d love to be there in the midst of the crowd, it’s just not a good idea for me.”

 

“Oh. I didn’t…I forgot for a minute.”

 

“Tis nothing, Swan. Maybe a bit later in the night, when everyone’s had a few more drinks we can go over there. There’s usually good bands here.”

 

“Yeah? You come here often.”

 

“Your pick-up lines are so original, love.”

 

“I mean, you took me out of the crowded bar and got me alone, so you’re not exactly super original.”

 

“Please,” he scoffs, flashing her a smile and waving her away. “Can I buy you a drink?”

 

He waggles his eyebrows as he says it, and she throws her head back in laughter while her cheeks flush. “So original. Um, I think I just want a beer. I don’t care what kind.”

 

“Perfect.” He stands from his chair and leans down to press a kiss against her temple. “I’ll be right back.”

 

She watches as he walks away, her eyes flickering over his body as he slyly moves the crowd, not a person looking his way. She wonders what it’s like being such an expert at having to actively blend in like that. In almost record time, she sees him leave the bar with two beer bottles and a basket of…onion rings.

 

Bless him.

 

“Milady,” he greets, bowing down and placing the basket in front of her. “I may have swindled you some food.”

 

“Trying to buy my affection then?”

 

“Well of course.” He winks before sitting down, his chair noticeably being pulled closer to hers so that they’re right next to each other, and she pops a ring in her mouth, chewing on the fried dough. “I saw them on the menu and knew you love them. There were cheeseburgers too, but I’ve had one of those here before and it was bloody awful.”

 

“How often do you come here? Like, legitimately, no cheesy pick-up lines involved.”

 

Killian shrugs before leaning back into his chair and pulling his arms above his head until his hands land on his hat, tipping the bill up. “Occasionally. I don’t get out of the house a lot to be honest. I’m usually not even home. Last year, God, I was never home last year. You never know how much you miss your bed until you haven’t slept in it for four months.”

 

“Where were you?”

 

“Filming in Australia for The Artist. It was beautiful out there, but I did miss this place.”

 

She takes a sip of her beer, watching Killian watch her over the bottle. “So does that happen a lot? The travel?”

 

“It depends. Though this show is the first time I’ve worked from home in a long time. I’ve never had a lot to tie me down, if I’m honest, so I’ve never minded the travel too much. I do miss my family, though, but before Aiden, Liam and Elsa would come visit wherever I was when they could.”

 

Her heart begins racing in her chest, the thoughts she’s been pushing down all night, all week really, of her never really being near Killian start crashing down around her while the band plays a slow song in the background.

 

Those two things just don’t seem to mix.

 

Suddenly there’s a hand over hers on the table, warm fingers twining together with hers, and when she looks away from them, she can see his blue eyes staring right at her while a soft smile graces his lips. “I always come home, though, Emma. The people around me are far more important than any role. I love it, but it’s just a job.”

 

She knows he’s talking about his friends and family, but a part of her believes he’s talking about her. It’s too much, and she needs to change the subject before she does something like cry in the middle of this bar. That would be ridiculous.

 

“Hey, there’s a dart board over there. You want to play?”

 

Killian hums next to her, leaning in a bit too close while his thumb rubs back and forth over her knuckles. “You’ve only had the one drink. And if how we met tells me anything, it’s not to play darts against Emma Swan when she’s sober.”

 

“You’re not being any fun. Come on.” She gets up from her chair, letting Killian’s fingers fall from hand only to be replaced by his fingers grabbing onto her wrist and her waist, a thumb snaking beneath her tank top and looping through her belt loop to tug her closer. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

He quirks an eyebrow, and she swears his cheeks blush under the dim lights in the bar. She also sure that she just set a record for going from terrified to kind of turned on in the fastest amount of time possible.

 

 “How so, love?”

 

“You’ll have to come play to find out.”

 

She walks away knowing that he’s going to follow, and maybe she slips a little bit of extra sway into her hips. They should go slow, take these things step by step, but honestly, she doesn’t know when she’ll see him again and she really, really wants to sleep with him.

 

It’s bad.

 

And this is totally, like, their tenth date, so really, what’s the point in waiting some more? The fact that they didn’t jump each other last night is a miracle. She likes him. A lot. And that’s not going to change just because she’s got a few reservations about him…or his job…or both really. But that doesn’t matter tonight. None of it does, not anymore. This is supposed to be fun and like she thought earlier…natural. She’s going to take things as they happen.  

 

She picks up the darts, ones with red tips, before handing Killian, who is sure enough right behind her, the other set.

 

“Game on?” she questions, quirking her eyebrow and smirking, using his own moves against him.

 

“Game on.”

 

Killian dips his head down and captures her lips in a kiss that she was in no way expecting. She gasps when he tugs on her upper lip, and he takes it as encouragement, his hands dipping into her back pockets and palming her ass while her arms wrap around his neck. It’s intoxicating, much more than the beer had been, but then she can suddenly feel the darts in her hand poking her skin and remembers what they were about to do.

 

“Hey,” she gasps when she pulls back, putting space between them, “you’re trying to throw me off my game.”

 

“Swan, I’d do no such thing.”

 

“Liar.”

 

He leans down to kiss her again, and she has to keep herself from smiling into it. “Did it work?”

 

She turns then, gathering her darts before aligning her stance and throwing, the dart landing almost directly on the bullseye.

 

“I guess not.”

 

“Well, we’ll just have to work on that.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

Killian waggles his eyebrows, and she laughs at how ridiculous this entire situation is. They’re really challenging each other to some kind of sexual dart throwing contest, and she is here for it. She’s also got to tell Ruby about this later and thank her again for that stupid bet, even if that will inflate her ego.

 

It may be worth it.

 

He takes a step up to the faded line on the floor, bumping her hip and making her scoot over before lining up his arm and tossing the dart, the pointed end landing just above hers.

 

“You’re not the only one with _skills_ , Swan.”

 

He accentuates the word skills, his voice deepening in timber, and she feels it against every inch of her skin, heat pooling in her belly. God, this was a dumb idea. She should have thought this one through.

 

“Yeah, well, that was a one-time thing obviously. It’s not going to happen again.”

 

It goes on like that for awhile, the two of them teasing each other while playing two different kinds of games. The tension in the air is palpable, and it takes everything in her not to smile or laugh or break down into a fit of giggles. When did she lose the ability to flirt in a bar?

 

“So, darling, I’m still wondering how exactly you plan on making this game worth my while. I remember a promise like that.”

 

She hums, stepping in front of him and brushing her hand over the front of his jeans where there’s a noticeable bulge, causing Killian to hiss and visibly clench his teeth. Gotcha. “You want to make a wager?”

 

“Depends,” he dips his head down and growls into her ear, “what do I get when I win?”

 

“You’re not going to win.”

 

“So confident.” He bites down on her ear. Hard. And she whimpers, her entire body shaking. “But you’ve lost a bet like this before.”

 

“True, but I think it’s worked out pretty well.”

 

His whiskers brush against her cheek while his hands find the skin at her waist, thumbs inching up to brush under her breasts, and her hands find their way to his back pockets, yanking his hips into hers and feeling his growing erection against her. Yeah, totally natural the way that this is progressing.

 

“It has, but we’re supposed to be making a bet here. If I hit the bullseye first, you come home with me.”

 

_So they’re betting on the bullseye then._

 

“And if I hit it first?”

 

“You come home with me.”

 

She barks out a laugh, some of the tension breaking between them, and she pulls back to look in his face, seeing the total seriousness there except for the smallest uptick of his lips.

 

“And what will we do while at your home?”

  
  
“Whatever the hell you want.”

 

“You need to work on your negotiating skills because I could want to sit on the couch and eat with nothing else.”

 

“Aye.” He releases her, separating them and grabbing onto his dart from the stool. “But I think this works out for both of us, and those are the best kind of bets.”

 

Without any preamble, he throws his dart, the small arrow landing with a thud on an outer circle. He’s been throwing nearly perfect throws all night, and she knows that he did that on purpose. Yeah, even if they made the stupidest bet of all time, they’re both winning.

 

But she’s still going to brag about it regardless. For an indeterminate amount of time.

 

She lines herself up, making sure her elbow is straight, and throws, the dart landing directly in the bullseye.

 

“Killian, take me home.”

 

* * *

 

He kisses her the moment they get back into his side door, the lock clicking into place as his lips move over hers and his hands find their way into her hair. He’s gentle, the fire from earlier simmering instead of burning, and she sighs into the kiss, letting her lips slowly move over his. In the back of her mind she knows they’re moving, her legs walking backward while Killian guides her, but it’s not until her back hits against a wall and his hips rut into hers that she realizes they’re next to the staircase.

 

His fingers tangle further into her hair, yanking a bit at the roots, and when she bites down on his bottom lip, he makes a muffled groan, his hips stopping in their movements while he just holds her there.

 

“Emma,” he breathes out on a shuddered breath, the air hot between them. “Emma, you want this right?”

 

She nods against him and tucks her fingers into his beltloops, pulling him back against her while her lips start moving against his jaw, kissing the whiskers and tasting the salt on his skin. “I want you.”

 

“Bloody hell do I want you, love.”

 

He devours her with a kiss that’s deep and hot, commanding really, and she lets him, titling her head to let their tongues tangle together while his hips rut into hers. It becomes messy, tongues wet and warm mixing together while she holds onto his jeans for dear life, not letting go until she can’t breathe.

 

“Bedroom?”

 

“Bedroom.”

 

Killian practically bounds up the stairs, taking two at a time, and when he reaches the top while she’s still only halfway up, he turns around with flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile, his hand immediately tugging on his hair. It’s only then that she realizes he’s lost his hat somewhere along the way, and she breaks out into giggles while hurrying up the stairs.

 

“What’s so funny, love?”

 

He sounds breathless, broken, his voice husky, and it almost fully brings her back to realizing how aroused she is.

 

Almost.

 

“You lost your hat,” she whispers, finally reaching the top of the stairs and wrapping her arms around his neck so she can play with his flattened hair, “and I don’t remember when that happened.”

 

“I don’t either.”

 

They both laugh into the kiss, and when they begin moving down the hallway this time, she’s aware of every step and every movement. She’s aware of the way her shirt is somewhere near the bookshelf that houses his photo albums, and she’s aware that his t-shirt is right next to it. She almost keeps going, heading to her room, but Killian turns into his, the unfamiliar surroundings taking a moment to get used to before the back of her knees hit a mattress and she falls backwards onto it with Killian hovering over her, caging her in, invading her space (always).

 

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and she yanks him closer so that she can taste it again herself, salt and beer on his tongue, and when she nibbles on it, she’s not disappointed by the way he groans into her mouth. She wants to keep going, to keep kissing him, but he drags his tongue against her jaw and traces down the lines of her neck until he’s worrying a bruise into her collarbone and she’s arching her back off the mattress.

 

Her hands find his bare back, nails digging into the skin, and she urges him closer so that his chest hair brushes against her breasts. But he doesn’t let her do that. Instead his hand that’s not in her hair finds her lace covered nipple, brushing over it and kneading into her skin.

 

“That,” she gasps, pushing her head into the mattress and fisting the comforter, “keeping doing that.”

 

He chuckles against her neck while his finger continues to rub against her breast. But then he’s moving, kissing down her chest and on the swell of her breasts until his thumb flicks her bralette down and the cool air of the bedroom hits her nipples.

 

“Bloody glorious,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against each nipple before his tongue circles her right breast and she has to close her eyes to try to deal with the sensations. “So beautiful.”

 

He bites down then, and she moans, the sound almost unfamiliar to her. In the background, she swears she can hear the ocean outside, but she doesn’t care. All she can focus on is Killian and how he’d feel inside of her, the two of them coming together completely. His lips leave her breasts and kiss down her stomach while her chest heaves, hooded eyes watching his black mop of hair moving down her body until he gets to her jeans. He looks up at her then through his lashes, and before he can even ask the question, she nods, giving him permission.

 

The buttons on her jeans are popped and the zipper unzipped, her legs quickly bared of anything and everything. His whiskers brush against her inner thighs, and a bead of sweat forms at her temple, falling across her skin.

 

She doesn’t know what he’s going to do until his fingers brush through her folds, feeling the wetness that’s pooled there. She gasps, the warmness and roughness of his fingers shocking her, and he looks up at her with a smirk and a chuckle.

 

“It’s nice to know I’ve had such an effect on you.”

 

He thrusts a finger into her then, and her back arches off the mattress, much higher than a few moments ago. He takes a few minutes to explore her, quickly learning things she likes as he toys with her, whispering encouragements and asking subtle questions that she tries to answer all while the pleasure is far too much. She’s almost there, her entire body primed to fall apart when he pulls back and she’s left wanting so much.

 

“What the fuck, dude?”

 

He snickers against her thighs before kissing back up her body, paying special attention to her breasts, before slanting his lips over hers. “I couldn’t take not being inside of you any longer. I’m but a man, love, and I’ve wanted you for what feels like a long time.”

 

“You’re ridiculous.”

 

“Aye.”

 

He rolls off of her until he’s shucking his jeans and his boxers down his legs, his cock, full and thick, suddenly on display to her. She gulps, thinking about what’s about to happen, and she absolutely cannot wait. She watches as Killian finds a condom, opening the package and rolling it down his length while she fumbles with her bra, letting it fall onto the bed.

 

When he’s finished, he takes a step back over to her, grabbing onto her ankles and pulling her forward until her ass hangs off the edge of the bed. He doesn’t say anything else, but he looks at her and smiles while he slides into her in one quick slide, full and heavy and thick, the both of them groaning at finally being connected. He’s…perfect inside of her, and while it takes a few thrusts to really get into a rhythm, he finally does. Her legs wrap around his waist, hooking together at his ass, and he leans over her, making sure that his lips are always against some part of her body while he moves inside with slow, leisurely pumps that drag against her walls and drive her insane.

 

“This is – it’s good,” she mumbles, adjusting herself and tightening her legs around his back while he leans down and hovers over her, kissing at her chin.

 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he mutters as he pumps himself into her, nibbling on her skin as she tries to breathe, her entire body moving under his and her head buried against his side. “So glorious. Everything about you is glorious.”

 

It’s all too much. She wants him too much, her words broken as his thrusts into her, somehow making his way further inside with every push and pull. But then she looks up at him and can clearly see that he’s just as overwhelmed as she is, that he’s feeling all of this too.

 

“Fuck, love. I – ”

 

“I know. Me, too.”

 

She comes with a shudder, her nails leaving crescent moons in the muscles of his skin as heat flutters within her and around her, and he doesn’t take too long to follow her, her name broken on his tongue. That was…that was perfect and not at all what she was expecting. She doesn’t know what exactly that was she’d dreamed about, but this was better in its simplicity and its passion.

 

Later, she curls up against him, craving the affection and comfort of being in his arms, and even if she wasn’t completely sure of him earlier, her past demons nipping at her heels, she’s feeling sure of him now. His lips brush against her forehead, and she looks up at him and those ridiculous blue eyes.

 

“I’m glad you came to visit me, sweetheart.”

 

A tear escapes her eye, unwarranted and unwanted with the realization that tomorrow is goodbye for an unknown amount of time coming back to her with new meaning. He wipes it away with his thumb before kissing his finger and the tear away.

 

“It’s been one of the best weeks of my life, Killian. I – thank you.”

 

He smiles softly down at her before pulling her closer, her leg hooking over his. “It’s definitely been the best week of mine.”

 

They fall asleep, but they also fall into each other in the middle of the night, each time better than the one before as they learn more of each other’s bodies, the newness fading into experience. When she wakes in the morning, the night comes back to her in the soreness of her body and the way that Killian’s wrapped around her, his body hot against hers. This morning she knows she can hear the ocean outside, waves crashing into the shore, and she smiles as she listens to it mixed in with the rhythm of Killian’s heartbeat beside her, two steady beats that calm her.

 

She stays that way for awhile until her stomach growls and her head begins to throb, the call of coffee almost as strong as the call of nature, and she very carefully tries to get out of bed without waking Killian. she thinks she’s success, her body almost completely off the bed when Killian speaks.

 

“Hey,” Killian mumbles, rolling in bed and grasping at the back of her bare thigh, skin still unbelievably warm compared to the house, “where are you going?”

 

“Downstairs for coffee,” she answers, trying not to whimper as Killian’s fingers move up and down her leg like he’s trying to coax her back into bed, “but I need something to wear because your house is freezing.”

 

“I think your jeans are somehow over by the balcony door.”

  
  
“Yeah, that’s not happening. Those are like wearing spanx over my entire body. Where’s your closet?”

 

“In the bathroom, on the right.”

 

She hums before walking that way, putting an extra sway in her hips like last night. Just naked. She knows Killian’s staring at her ass, and, well, she can’t help herself. She also still can’t get over how nice his bathroom is, white marble and warm chestnut cabinets everywhere, and when she opens his closet, she’s in no way surprised by the size or the fact that everything is organized by color. Most everything is in blacks and dark grays, the occasional blue or deep purple shirt, but what catches her attention is the bright green sweater with garland and bright ornaments draped across it.

 

“No way,” she laughs, walking over to it and pulling the ugly Christmas sweater off the hanger. It’s the one he wore in his response video, the same one she has in her closet. “I can’t believe he kept this.”

 

She throws it on, the material falling just above her mid-thigh, and uses the bathroom before finding her way back out into the bedroom where Killian’s fiddling with his phone. She coughs, very loudly and extremely fake, and he looks up, his face impartial until he catches a glimpse at what she’s wearing. His lips tick up while his eyes crinkle, and he laughs, a full belly one, while she sways toward him, the garland of the sweater moving with her.

 

“Bloody hell, darling, what possessed you to put that on?”

 

“What possessed you to keep it?”

 

His right eyebrow ticks up, and his hands find their way to her hips under the sweater, pulling her down on top of him so that she’s straddling his hips, his skin warm against hers.

 

“What? You’re telling me you didn’t keep yours?”

 

“Only because we have a tacky Christmas sweater party at the office every year.”

 

He hums as his hands run up her sides over the sweater, finding their way to rest at her neck. “You know, the first time I ever saw you, you were wearing this sweater. I was actually in this very bed and thought you were beautiful.”

 

“That sounds a little pervy, Killian.”

 

His eyes roll, and he leans forward to press a quick kiss against her cheek. “Shut it, Swan. That’s not what I meant. Robin showed me your little video, and he found you to be positively charming just as I did.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’d like that video to be purged from the internet.” His eyebrow quirks again, and she swears her heartbeat flutters. “Not that I’m not glad I’m here. I am. I know I said that last night but – I really…I really like you.”

 

His thumb moves against her cheek, affection absolutely brimming in his eyes. “I like you, too, darling. You need not worry about those affections being returned.” He rolls his hips to make a point, and she scoffs, laughter making its way in somewhere while she tries to keep heat from pooling between her thighs, hunger more important than anything right now. “Obviously. I’d also really like that breakfast you were talking about before I see you off, okay?”

 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

“You have to stop saying that.”

 

“Never.”

 

She climbs off his lap, adjusting the sweater and leaving the bedroom while Killian gets dressed behind her. She’s absolutely giddy (God, when was the last time she was like this?), and she jogs down the stairs, practically sliding into the kitchen and making her way to the pantry, grabbing the bisquick for waffles. She hears a door slam while she’s shuffling through his syrup, trying to find one that’s not sugar free or gross, and when she leaves the room expecting to find Killian waiting for her, he’s not.

 

His brother is.

 

“Why the bloody hell are you in my brother’s house?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! As always, you can come and chat about my penchant for cliffhangers over on my Tumblr at Let-it-raines!


	6. Chapter Six

“So tell me, darling,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the concave of Emma’s breasts before he finds her left wrist and feels the thin bones beneath her skin, “what exactly is this little mark on your wrist? It’s not a freckle, that much I’ve gathered. I don’t believe it’s a birthmark either.” He looks up from her wrist to see her eyes trained on his fingers, lips parted in fascination. She’s so bloody beautiful, her hair mused from their activities and her cheeks flushed in pink.

 

“It’s a tattoo.”

 

He barks out a laugh, the sensation rumbling through his stomach before he looks back at her wrist and sees that the mark is perfectly black and perfectly round, like the needle touched her skin before she pulled away. “Is it really? What would that be? The world’s tiniest tattoo?”

 

“No,” she shakes her head, pulling her wrist from his grasp so that she can look at it, eyes slanted in concentration. “It was supposed to be a buttercup, but I chickened out the moment the needle hit my skin.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

  
  
“Yeah, well, it was my eighteenth birthday, and I was finally going to do something not under the control of my foster parents at the time. But then I was basically, like, holy shit I’m not sure I want this on my skin for the rest of time. I’d never really had anything in my life that permanent, and it just seemed overwhelming.”

 

He grabs her wrist back, pulling it to him and pressing a kiss to her skin, right over the dot. “I like it. You ever think about going and getting it finished?”

 

“Nah,” she sighs, scooting closer to him and pulling the blankets up over them while her freezing feet stick between his calves, “not really. I like tattoos and all, but I never could quite figure out what I wanted. Maybe one day.” She runs her hands down his arm, finding his bare wrist. “What about you?”

 

“I actually almost got one as well, but it was only when I was thinking about going into the Navy.”

  
  
“What?” Emma laughs, the sound sweet in his ears as her eyes scrunch up in amusement. “I didn’t know that. When were you almost in the Navy?”

 

“Well, you know, Liam was in it back home, the Royal Navy, and when we moved here, I didn’t know what else to do so I looked to see if I could enlist with how my citizenship was. But I couldn’t and instead started working building sets.”

 

“How does one go from almost joining the military to building sets for movies?”

 

“With a hell of a lot of luck and an older brother who found the job listing in the newspaper.”

 

“Wow,” she laughs, whistling under her breath, “that’s old school. A newspaper?”

 

“Hey now,” he chuckles, leaning over and pressing the quickest of kisses against her lips, feeling her smile into it, “I am not old. You’re four years younger than me, darling. Did you not do the same?”

 

“Online, buddy,” she speaks against his lips before capturing his bottom lip between her lips and rolling over so that she’s half on top of him, her skin smooth and soft and warm. “When’s your birthday anyways?”

 

“Shouldn’t you know that in all of your googling of me?” He waggles his eyebrows, and Emma slaps his shoulder while her eyes roll. “I’m kidding, love. It’s May eighth.”

 

“Gotta keep that in mind.”

  
  
“Yeah, you planning on being around?”

 

He’s testing the waters, seeing if Emma’s willing to say anything in the darkness of the night and the playfulness between the two of them right now. He knows that she’s still slightly unsure of him, of this, and he’s taking a risk pushing her. But if anything, this week has proven they work well together, that they are good together.

 

“Maybe,” she shrugs, breasts moving against his chest, “if I can be. Or if you want me there.”  
  


 

He moves his hand from her back to tuck her loose hair behind her ears. “I do want you there, but it’s on a Wednesday.”

 

“How do you know that already?”  
  


 

“Because I know everything.”

 

  
“Such a smartass.”

 

Emma falls back asleep before he does, curling off of him and around her pillow while he struggles to fall into the same slumber, eventually succumbing after scrolling through his photo roll from the last week, deleting anything that’s blurry or unfocused. He wakes to movement and a loss of heat, his eyes opening to find Emma’s bare legs moving above him as she gets out of bed.

 

“Hey,” he mumbles, rolling over and grasping at the back of her bare thigh, skin unbelievably warm, “where are you going?”

 

“Downstairs for coffee,” she answers while his fingers move up and down her leg to try to coax her back to bed, wanting this morning to last as long as possible, “but I need something to wear because your house is freezing.”

 

“I think your jeans are somehow over by the balcony door.”

  
  
“Yeah, that’s not happening. Those are like wearing spanx over my entire body. Where’s your closet?”

 

“In the bathroom, on the right.”

 

Emma walks away then, swaying her hips in a way that he truly appreciates, and he watches her go until his phone goes off. He fumbles around to find it, seeing that Will texted him to ask about plans for the day. He can’t do anything. He’s got Emma and work, and Will’s going to have to wait to hang out until Emma’s not around, as sad as that makes him. While they’re texting, he mentions Emma, telling Will about her staying with him and saying they’ll talk later about all of the new things in their lives. It’s been awhile since they had a beer.

 

Now that he’s a little more sure with what’s happening with them, he’s got to tell the rest of his friends and his family. Really now, Liam is the only one who doesn’t know, and he makes a mental note to tell he and Elsa that’s he’s seeing someone new. Maybe Emma can meet everyone the next time she’s in LA, whenever that will be.

 

If that’s not too much. She might not be up for that.

 

He hears a cough before looking up to see Emma wearing the blasted ugly Christmas sweater he bought to match hers for the video. He barks out a laugh, unable to contain his amusement at the ridiculousness of it all.

 

“Bloody hell, darling, what possessed you to put that on?”

 

“What possessed you to keep it?”

 

His right eyebrow ticks up, and his hands find their way to her hips under the sweater, pulling her down on top of him so that she’s straddling his hips, her skin warm against his.

 

“What? You’re telling me you didn’t keep yours?”

 

“Only because we have a tacky Christmas sweater party at the office every year.”

 

He hums as his hands run up her sides over the sweater, finding their way to rest at her neck. “You know, the first time I ever saw you, you were wearing this sweater. I was actually in this very bed and thought you were beautiful.”

 

“That sounds a little pervy, Killian.”

 

His eyes roll, and he leans forward to press a quick kiss against her cheek. “Shut it, Swan. That’s not what I meant. Robin showed me your video, and he found you to be positively charming, just as I did.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’d like that video to be purged from the internet.” His eyebrow quirks again, and he smiles looking up at her, the sweater only making everything better. He can definitely understand her not wanting that to be online, but he’s rather fond of the video that brought them together. “Not that I’m not glad I’m here. I am. I know I said that last night but – I really…I really like you.”

 

His thumb moves against her cheek and he swears he can practically see the affection in her eye. “I like you, too, darling. You need not worry about those affections being returned.” He rolls his hips to make a point, and she scoffs, laughter making its way through the both of them even with his ridiculously dirty move when his attraction to Emma is so much more than physical. “Obviously. I’d also really like that breakfast you were talking about before I see you off, okay?”

 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

“You have to stop saying that.”

 

“Never.”

 

She climbs off his lap, adjusting the sweater while leaving the bedroom and walking down the hall. He takes a moment to calm himself down after Emma walks away, leaving an imaginary trail of green tinsel behind her. God, that’s the sweater that somehow keeps on giving when it comes to her. How dare she suggest he throw it out. He never would, especially now that he knows her so intimately, physically yes, but mostly emotionally. She’s bloody wonderful, and her telling him she likes him meant the world to him, even if he’s far past that stage.

 

But he’ll let Emma pace them, her walls built a little higher than his when it comes to trusting someone new with their hearts.

 

Groaning with the ache in his strained thighs, he gets out of bed, pulling on his sweatpants from work yesterday and brushing his teeth before walking downstairs, a bounce in his step he hasn’t had in awhile despite how tired he is, how much Emma wore him out last night. She’s leaving today, but he’s trying not to think about that too much, pushing the thoughts down knowing that he has to work right after she gets on her flight and that’ll distract him from his melancholy. It’s been a blessed week, and not just last night – or early this morning really – and his mind is already running through scenarios of him being finished with filming and able to fly to Boston to visit her near the end of April. It’s only a month, maybe a bit more really, but it feels a bit longer right now.

 

Even if he’s trying to push that thought to the back of his mind so that he can enjoy breakfast with Emma before he drives her to LAX.  

 

He hears voices when he gets downstairs, and the moment he recognizes the one that’s not Emma, his pulse increases and his body heats in fear.

 

_Fuck._

 

“How the hell did you get in here?”

 

“I was invited. Killian invited me.”

 

“Why would he do that? Are you delusional? You asked him out through a video, so I’m kind of thinking you are. God, I should have talked to him about that, especially after I saw the photos. I should have never let it slide.”

 

“He’s a grown man. He can make his own decisions.”

 

“I’m calling the police.”

 

“Liam,” he hisses, stepping into the room to see Emma shielding herself behind the island counter while Liam stands with his arms crossed by the stove. He looks pissed, but so is Killian. Liam can’t just barge into his home and accost his guests and then threaten to call the police like he knows what’s going on. “What the fuck, brother? You can’t just walk in my home and start yelling at someone I asked to be here.”

 

“What are you talking about, little brother? You asked her to be here? She’s a fan. Have you lost it?”

 

His blood boils, the rage setting in as he stares down his brother. “She’s…we’re dating. And she’s supposed to be here. You’re not.”

 

“I have a key, and I hadn’t heard from you in days,” Liam grits, straightening his shoulders in a move that Killian knows is an intimidation factor he’s perfected over the years. He’s not going to let it work today, not with this. “I was worried about you and walking into this didn’t exactly help my fears. How was I supposed to know she hadn’t broken into your house? She’s even wearing the bloody sweater.”

 

“I’m just,” Emma stutters, stepping backward until she’s standing beside him, her hand lightly brushing his, “I’m going to go upstairs and get packed to leave. I feel like this isn’t my conversation to be had.”

 

“Emma,” he cautions, looking down at her with pleading eyes, “you don’t have to go.”

 

She smiles. It’s soft, and it’s sad, something he doesn’t want to see grace her face when they were just so happy. So damn happy. Fuck, he should have already told Liam, but he was waiting to see where this was going and was going to tell him later this week. He was already planning it all out. He knew Liam would be protective, but he didn’t think he’d be like this. This is ridiculous. He’s a grown man. He should be able to make his own damn choices. Why the hell is his brother acting like this?

 

“No, Killian, I think I do.”

 

At that, Emma walks out of the room, leaving him with Liam and an anger that’s barely contained within him.

 

“What the hell was that? What do you mean you’re dating her?”

 

“I mean that she and I are seeing each other,” he explains, stepping forward and slamming his hands against the marble counter. “We talk, kiss, she stays at my place, all the things normal people do. You’re married. You should understand the concept.”

 

He doesn’t technically know if they’re dating, the words not explicitly said between them, but if anyone doesn’t need to know that right now, it’s Liam who seems to have a stick up his arse this morning.

 

“Very funny, brother,” Liam scoffs while rolling his eyes. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

 

“Yeah, well, so you’ve said. I do, and it’s really not any of your goddamn business.”

 

“Killian, you could be making a mistake here. Think about what’s happened before.”

 

“You’re not my father, Liam. And I’m a grown man in my thirties, not some naïve kid who doesn’t know better. I can make my own choices without your judgment even if you don’t seem to think so right now.”

 

“I am the closet thing you have to a dad, and you need my help.”

 

“We don’t have a dad, Liam,” he spits, stepping closer to Liam so that their feet touch. “I sure as hell don’t need you to be one because you likely scared Emma away when that’s absolutely the last thing that I needed or wanted. I am willing to try again, to open myself up after not being with someone for so long, and you aren’t even giving Emma the benefit of the doubt. Hell, you’re not even giving it to me.”

 

Liam’s lips part before he scratches at his chin, his jaw ticking. “You’re bloody in love with the woman.”

 

“Of course I am.” He slaps his hands against his thighs before running his hands through his hair, making it stand up in a hundred different ways, and taking a few steps back as he shakes his head back and forth in frustration. “I love her, and you’re being an insufferable ponce.”

 

“She’s a fan, little brother. How could you be so blind? Have you not learned your lesson from the past? All I want is to protect you.”

 

“ _Younger_ brother, and while I’m younger than you, I’m not bloody stupid. I know what I’m doing here.”

 

“Do you?” He takes a step forward so that he towers over Killian. He’s not that much shorter, but at this moment, he feels about as big as a child. “She practically ran away when someone other than you knew about her, someone who could protect you. Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious?”

 

“For God’s sake, Liam. You walked in on her while she was barely dressed and then threatened to call the police on her. She’s embarrassed and likely pretty pissed that you berated her when you realized who she was. It’s not suspicious. Robin knows about her, so does Will as of this morning. It’s new and we’re figuring things out, and I don’t need you and your pompous arse ways ruining something before it even begins.”

 

“Killian – ”

 

“No, just leave. I’ll talk to you later when I don’t want to punch you, but I don’t want you here right now. And I’d rather you not try to talk to me until I call you. I’ll work things out with you later since you’re not flying across the country this afternoon.”

 

He doesn’t wait for Liam to leave before he runs up the stairs, his anger at his brother replaced with fear that Emma’s going to be in her room packing her bags and leaving without saying goodbye. She’s not in her room, her bag still unpacked with clothes everywhere, and he checks in the bathroom before jogging to his room and finding her sitting on the couch he has out on the balcony, the sliding glass doors open so that the ocean air travels in.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, cautiously walking outside and squatting down in front of her, taking her hands in his even though she doesn’t squeeze back, her hands cool against his, “you okay?”

 

She doesn’t look at him, her gaze trained on the water outside. She’s so bloody beautiful even with her hair all knotted and her makeup smudged while wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater. But she’s probably pissed and upset, and he’s honestly surprised he wasn’t immediately berated for everything that just happened. He can’t even begin to imagine how she feels. It’s one thing for him to be pissed at his brother. It’s another for Emma to have been berated by a man she doesn’t know for doing nothing but existing. God, Liam, why of all mornings did he have to show up today?

 

 He rubs his thumb over her knuckles trying to coax her to look at him, and when she finally does, he gives her a lopsided smile.

 

She doesn’t return it.

 

“Is your bother always such an ass? I thought you said he was your best friend.”

 

“He is, and he can be,” he explains, trying to think how to explain things to her. He knows Liam was wrong and an arse, and he’s right pissed at him. But he’s still is brother, and there has to be a way to work all of this out. He can’t – he doesn’t want any of these relationships to be suffering, but it might be too late now, at least with Emma. Liam can be easily fixed, their bond too strong not to make it past something like this. “Liam’s my brother, but he’s also like a father figure, as you know. He’s a little protective.”

 

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and yanking her hands away from his to cross them under her chest. “I don’t have a brother or a father, but that wasn’t protective. That was asshole. And I know I have no right to be a raging bitch to you about your brother but – ”

 

“You have every right.”

 

“Okay, then. Your brother makes a fucking horrible first impression, and I kind of want to shove a very pointy heel up his ass. How dare he accuse me of all of that. I’m an adult. I’m not some kid in a foster home who gets reprimanded for being out of bed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I sure as hell shouldn’t be reprimanded for being in a house I’m supposed to be in.”

 

He cringes, the thought that she’d relate that back to her time in foster homes not occurring to him. He should have known. He spent time in them himself, and she’s right. He knows what it’s like to be yelled at for being somewhere you thought was safe, and it’s not pleasant. God, this is all screwed up.

 

“I know.”

 

“And fuck Killian,” she uncrosses her arms and throws them in the air, “why the hell didn’t you tell him about me? What was this? Just some game? A week vacation just so you could sleep with me? Because I’m feeling like an idiot right now.”

  
  
“Emma no. I lo – I like you so much. You have no idea.”

 

“Then what? Because all of my friends know about you. And don’t think I missed how Robin thought I was here for some kind of fan engagement. I’m kind of feeling like a dirty little secret right now, and that is not me. I’m not a plaything or someone to be ashamed of.”

  
  
“Swan, I know, okay? I fucked up. My brother fucked up. We all fucked up. I’m not ashamed of you. I just didn’t know what to say. It sounds so stupid now, but I didn’t…don’t know what we are. And I felt like it would be odd for me to just tell them I’ve made a new friend who I very much like, but I’m now realizing I went about this all wrong. But Emma, love, never in my wildest dreams could I be ashamed of you. I am so, so sorry that I could ever make you feel that way. You don’t deserve it.”

 

Her eyes flicker up and down his body, the green not nearly as bright as usual despite the water that resides there. She’s studying him, using her superpower she shared with him one night during a phone call to see if he’s lying. He knows that’s what she’s doing, and he tries to steady his gaze. He’s not lying. Every word he said was true, and he hopes she sees that. She has to see that. He can’t lose her, not now, not after he’s finally feeling like things are going right.

 

But if she wants to go, if this bothers her enough, he has to let her. He can fight for her, but she has to want him. And if anything, he deserves for her to be furious with him. He did screw up. Liam certainly hasn’t helped matters, making everything an absolute shit show, but it isn’t all Liam’s fault. A lot of it is on him.

 

“I believe you,” she finally whispers, her eyelashes hitting against her cheeks before she looks him dead in the eye, “but I am pissed. That’s not just going to go away.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And I still have to go home.”

 

“I know.”

 

She wipes away under her cheeks before looking back out at the ocean, the sky suddenly dark and waves rough, as if a storm is coming. “I need to pack.”

 

“You have time.”

 

“Not really. I’m supposed to be at the airport in an hour, and if anything, I know that traffic is horrible here.” She gets up then, using the sweater to cover herself and then walking through the balcony doors into his bedroom and out of view.

 

He leaves her be while she packs, picking up her clothes from the bedroom and folding them before getting her shirt from the hallway, picking his own up as well. It’s all a mess, but he thinks that it has to get better. It can’t possibly get worse right now But he has to stop screwing up when it comes to Emma. Like she said, her coming here this week was a huge deal for her – for him too – and after so many days of bliss, it’s been mucked up in a matter of minutes.

 

Sighing, he takes the folded clothes and heads down to her room, knocking on the door even though it’s ajar. He doesn’t want to invade in her personal space if she doesn’t want him to. She’s changed into leggings and a sweatshirt, the Christmas sweater long gone.

 

“Hi,” he holds up the clothes, “I brought you these.”

 

She gives him a soft smile, lips slightly tugging up before taking the clothes out of his hands, her fingers brushing against his skin and sending pinpricks throughout his body. “Thank you. I, um, I need to go soon.”

 

“I know. Can I still take you to the airport?”

 

She nods her head in answer before turning around and finishing her packing. He stays at the doorway for a moment, watching her, before heading back to his room and taking a shower, letting the hot water hit his skin and burn out all of his frustrations.

 

He takes her to the airport, and as if the world has decided to turn against him, there’s no traffic on the way to LAX. He was expecting time with her, time to work things out, but he gets there in record time after a car ride full of awkward silences and stilted conversations. He needs more than this, doesn’t want to let her go quite yet, so instead of dropping her off at the curb he pays for one-day parking and pulls into the spot nearest to the building.

 

When he turns the engine off, neither of them move, silence settling between them while planes roar up above and car horns honk in the distance.

 

“I should – ”

 

“Please don’t.”

 

“I’m sorry. What?”

 

“Swan, I know you have to go. You have to be at work tomorrow, and you have this entire life at home. A life that is yours and wonderful, and I’m so glad I’ve gotten to be a part of it. But I don’t want this week to be it. And I know I fucked up, but I can be better. Do better. For you.”

 

“I’m not…it’s not that. It’s not you,” she fumbles, resting her head back against the seat and turning to face him, the corners of her lips tugging downward. “It’s…God, Killian. It’s just that I’ve had a bad day. This morning was like coming down from some kind of wonderful high, and I’m wallowing in it and in going home. I need some time to think things through. But it’s fine. We’re – whatever we are is fine.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

She smiles and nods her head before her palm find his cheek, fingers running over the scruff. “You and me, KJ, we are complicated, this relationship, us being together, and us on our own, but despite every fear that I have, I think things might be okay. If anything, I think me going home will allow us to calm down and help us figure things out. God knows I need it.”

 

He turns his head and kisses her palm, lingering there for a moment. “So you’re not going to get on that plane and never talk to me again?”

 

“You know too much. I can’t stop talking to you now.”

 

He barks out a laugh, the tension in the small space fading away, before leaning across the console and tentatively pressing a kiss against Emma’s cheek, lingering to see if her body tenses or if she’d relax into it, silently letting him know how she feels about more physical contact. She doesn’t tense and she doesn’t relax, but she does turn her head and press a kiss against the corner of his lips, almost there but not quite.

 

“I have to go.”

 

“I know,” he sighs, smiling down at her with their foreheads pressed together. “There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you.”

 

“And yet I’m the stalker.” He laughs against her lips before kissing her again, a fleeting little thing that’s not enough, but it’s a real kiss this time. And she kisses him back. “Good.”

 

They get out of the car, and he gets her luggage out of the trunk, placing it on the ground and locking everything back up. He begins to trail it toward the walkway so they can go inside, but she stops him, her hand on his chest.

 

“I can go in on my own.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I do know how to take care of myself believe it of not.” She rolls her eyes before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug, the scent of her perfume invading his senses. She smells like flowers and the vanilla of her shampoo that’s lingering on his sheets. He’s going to miss that. It sounds insane, but he is. She pulls back and takes a step away, separating them and smiling. “I’ll text you when I get home, okay?”

 

“Sounds like a plan, love.”

 

He nods and she turns around, walking away with her suitcase trailing behind her, and he feels like the most dramatic arse in the world. He is, isn’t? He shouldn’t be this upset, but he’s also watching the woman he loves walk away when they’re still unsure of everything. It’s a new relationship, and all of the thrills and fears spark through his body as he watches the blonde hair disappear around the corner.

 

The skies open up then, the storm he sensed earlier while out on the balcony coming into full effect, and it storms in Los Angeles twice in one week, water beginning to wash everything away while also nurturing new growth.

 

* * *

 

Killian drives to set after dropping Emma off, pulling through the guarded gates and parking before making his way to hair and makeup. It usually doesn’t take long, but he knows that they have to paint cuts and bruises across his skin today, making everything elongated. He closes his eyes as his makeup artists do their magic, occasionally taking a sip of the coffee that was already waiting for him when he arrived, and when he opens them up, he looks as if he’s been slashed across the face, blood escaping his skin.

 

“Bloody hell,” he grimaces, testing out his facial movements, “this is fantastic but also terrifying, Kendall.”

 

“Thank you. I’ve been practicing on your mannequin.”

 

“Love, I’ll never quite be over you having a realistic copy of my face. It’s damn creepy.”

 

“Yeah, well, it helps. Don’t get wet when you’re going to costume, okay?”

 

“I’ll try my best.”

 

He’s dressed in his worn and battered clothing, rips and blood stains covering his body before he spends the next three hours shooting the aftermath of the fight scene they begin yesterday. It’s like torture, his body aching with every movement, and he knows half of it is from the physical exertion of the stunts yesterday but the other half is from him rutting himself into Emma for half of the night. God, how the hell does being sore make him think of her? That’s ridiculous.

 

But the scene is eventually finished, and while he’s sure they’ll make them do reshoots later, he’s glad to get to sit down and have his makeup removed before a few new, lesser scars are added to show his healing as days past while the rest of this scenes for this episode are filmed throughout the rest of the day and far into the night.

 

He lets a driver take him home, leaving his car there to pick up tomorrow, and by the time he gets into bed, he’s nearly asleep, eyes fluttering closed until he remembers that he hasn’t talked to Emma, his phone staying in his trailer without use all day.

 

**Emma: Just landed. It was a long flight, and the woman next to me talked the entire time.**

**Emma: I know all about her son’s problems in his marriage, and she asked for my advice on what young women want out of relationships.**

**Emma: There was very long conversation about sex. I have still not recovered.**

**Emma: Anyways, I’m home, back at the apartment and everything. Maybe you could call me when you get these?**

He checks the time stamps and sees that these are all from hours ago, and while it’s four in the morning here, it’s seven back in Boston and Emma will be up getting ready for work. Pressing her number, he calls.

 

“Hello?” she answers, yawning into it.

 

“Hi, love. Sorry I missed your texts earlier. It was a crazy day of filming, but I’m glad you’re home safely.”

 

“Me too. Don’t you need to be sleeping?”

 

“No, no,” he protests even as he curls himself into bed, “tell me about your flight before you have to go to work. I want to hear all about this sex talk of yours.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“Yeah, well, can you blame me? You’ve painted an interesting tale.”

 

“Okay,” she begins before weaving him the tale of her flight home and her time in the airport, lulling him into a sense of comfort he hasn’t really felt in the past twenty-four hours. He didn’t think she’d be open to so much talking, but he can hear the smile and the laugh in her voice as well as the sounds of traffic behind her as she moves through the streets of Boston. Things are messed up, repairs still needed to be made and conversations needed to be had, but for this moment, he thinks he and Emma are going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys continue to be the best! I love it, and your reactions are always the sweetest! I promise that with time and development, things will be resolved and you'll understand all of the reactions a bit more. I promise Liam isn't going to be the bad guy in this story, just a complicated older brother :D


	7. Chapter Seven

“So his vocabulary is really starting to improve.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“The other day he was almost stringing together full sentences.”

 

“Wow, so interesting.”

 

“And then out of the blue he goes, Dad, I’m moving to California and going to get Emma’s head back so she’ll stop staring off into the window.”

 

“Yeah? Cool.”

 

The back of her head is slapped, shaking her out of her daydreams only to find David standing above her with his hands on his hips and his lips stretched into a thin line. She reaches up to scratch the top of her head, patting her hair down from where it’s messed up.

 

“What the hell was that for, David?”

 

“You weren’t listening to me.”

 

“Yes, I was!”

 

“What was I just talking about?”

 

“The murder case at work. You finally caught the guy.”

 

David sighs, tipping his head back before scratching his chin where his normally clean shaven face has blonde scruff growing. He sits down on the window seat with her, leaning back against the glass pane and staring at her with the same kind of stern look he gives Leo when he’s not listening. Personally, she thinks that the kid is two. David staring him down with his eyes slanted and his hands on his hips isn’t really going to do a lot, but she doesn’t have kids to parent and teach right from wrong. She has the kids at the shelter, but they’re usually older and each of them takes a special touch. And her job deals more with the adults and paperwork than anything but whatever.

 

She realizes she’s spacing out again when David flicks her knee, bringing her attention back to him.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re not listening to me at all.”

 

“I am so. The murder, remember?”

 

“Emma,” David sighs while her confusion increases, “I stopped talking about work fifteen minutes ago. I was talking about Leo. Where’s your head today?”

 

“Nowhere,” she lies, picking off some imaginary lint on her yoga pants. “I guess I just got distracted. You talk about your kid a lot.”

  
  
“Well, he is adorable,” he jokes, a bright smile crossing his features that happens whenever he’s talking about Mary Margaret or Leo. “But seriously. You’ve been spaced out all week. Mary Margaret and Ruby have both said the same thing when you’re with them. Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Is it about Killian?”

 

“Not everything is about Killian, David,” she bites, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out the window, seeing Wilby running around in the backyard, his fur bouncing everywhere. “That’s sexist to just automatically assume that if something is wrong it has to be about a man.”

 

“I know that, but I ask because if it’s work related, you vent to Ruby. If it’s something else, you tell me or Mary Margaret. The only time you bottle things up is when it comes to your relationships, and you’re bottling things up.”

 

Damn him for being able to read her so well. If anything, she should be spending less time with David so he can stop doing that. He’s a detective, and he figures everything out with weird accuracy. And as much as she has wanted to talk about all of this, she hasn’t quite found the words.

 

She picks at that imaginary piece of lint again before adjusting her sweater and murmuring, “We…Killian and I kissed again when I was in California last week, and then we slept together completely sober because we wanted to. And I know you probably don’t want to know anything about that, but it’s important for what I’m about to say.”

 

David smiles and nods, urging her on, and she lets him. “I have feelings for him. And it’s, like, I knew I had feelings for him before I went to California, but I didn’t know they were so deep. But I told him about Neal and my past. He already knew all of the foster care shit, and now he knows about Neal along with some of the others. He knows about more than most people ever have, and he didn’t look at me like I’m some poor victim. He _understood_.”

 

“What’s the big deal, Emma? This is a good thing, isn’t it? You’re opening up to someone again.”

 

“And I’m terrified,” she whispers, pulling her knees up against her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, “because there are already so many complications.”

 

“Complications?” David furrows his brows and purses his lips. “From what you say, things seem great.”

 

She scoffs, her head falling back against the glass again. “It’s…Killian is great, _really_ great, but he didn’t tell any of his friends about me, which I get now. I don’t tell you guys every time I start talking to someone new, but there was, um, an incident.”

 

She knows David is being patient with her. He can be impulsive and irrational, sometimes not waiting to hear both sides of the story and barging off on some kind of unwarranted quasi older brother protective shit – as if there’s not enough of that in the world – but today’s he’s decided to listen instead of interrupting her or jumping to conclusions. She appreciates it because despite she and Killian talking regularly this week and her _missing_ him, she has all of these feelings and emotions jumbled up inside about everything that happened with Liam. Killian does, too. She knows he hasn’t talked to his brother since that morning in his kitchen, and she feels guilty about that as well. She can’t come between a family. Everyone deserves a family who loves them.

 

How could everything go from being happy and blissful to confusion and conflict?

 

“What do you mean? Did Killian hurt you? Physically, I mean.”

 

“No,” she fervently shakes her head, the thought of that completely out of the realms of possibility here, “definitely not. It’s just, well, since he didn’t tell any of his friends about me, no one knew I was coming. And Robin was fine with it. I really enjoyed talking to him. But then my last morning there, the morning after Killian and I were _together_ , his brother walked in the house and chewed my head off, telling me I’m some kind of delusional fan and threatening to call the police because he thought I broke into the house.”

 

“What an asshole.”

  
  
“That’s what I said, and I get it now. I get what that must have looked like to him with Killian’s past and people taking advantage of him, but it was still crazy. And then I heard some of what he was saying to Killian after I left the room and, well, he…Liam hates me.”

  
  
“Emma,” David soothes, leaning forward and placing his hand overs hers, “that’s not Killian though. From what I can tell, the man is enamored with you. Him having an asshole of a brother doesn’t have to mean something. I have one of those, and Mary Margaret and I are very much in love.”

 

 “That’s because you two were basically written to be together. There’s never been any other option.”

 

“You say that now, but we didn’t always know that. Neither of us come from great families, we had lots of obstacles, but we made it work. You’ve never had a man fight for you, something you deserve, but Emma, if you want this, you have to fight for him too.”

 

She knows that. She’s not used to it, especially because she doesn’t feel like she did anything wrong, but she knows she can’t just let all of these things fester. It’ll drive a wedge between she and Killian, and while that may be her first instinct, that’s what she’s trying to push down. He’s different than all of the others. He understands her, and he doesn’t try to change her.

 

His brother is what’s holding her back.

 

And maybe a little bit of the other fears, but she’s trying to take the leap of faith. Trying.

 

“It’s just, like,” she begins, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, “if his brother doesn’t approve of me, how am I ever going to fit in? And then I start thinking long term, and that terrifies me. And then I start thinking about how I don’t need the approval of someone who speaks to me like that, but a tiny part of me wonders…how can I ever have a future with Killian if the most important person in his life hates me and thinks I’m some kind of fan using Killian for a weird fantasy?”

 

“That’s not what’s happening though, right?”

 

She scoffs, shaking her head back and forth, the thought of taking advantage of Killian ludicrous. “Not at all.”

 

“Then his brother will understand once things have calmed down and everything has been explained. You said he’s his best friend, right?” She nods, thinking of all of the kind words Killian has said about Liam, trying to match them up with the man she met. “Then he can’t be all bad. He sounds like a bit of a pompous ass, and I’ll be speaking to him if he ever says anything like that to you again, but I think things are going to work out for you, kid.”

 

“I’m only six years younger than you.”

 

“Yeah, well.”

 

David opens his arms and leans forward, pulling her into his arms and embracing her. She wraps hers around his immediately, holding on tightly and breathing him in while he cups the back of her head. David always makes everything better even when he’s annoying the hell out of her, and she really appreciates him for that. She’s going to have to make sure he’s not overbearing when he meets Killian or else this whole situation will be like the pot calling the kettle black.

 

She also can’t believe she’s so sure that he’s going to meet Killian, but the thought came so naturally. She wants to keep trying with him, to keep working toward whatever it is we’re working toward, and that means the both of them trying with the other’s friends and family.

 

She still wants to kick Liam’s ass a bit, though. Verbally, though. She’ll leave him be otherwise.

 

“What’s happening here?” Mary Margaret questions, her voice shocking them out of their hug.

 

When she pulls back from David, she sees Mary Margaret holding Leo, the both of their hair sleep rumpled and crazy from their nap. Mary Margaret is pregnant, but they haven’t told Emma. Yet she knows this is why Mary Margaret refused a beer three days ago and why she left the room earlier when the smells of their Chinese food became too much. And it’s why she was upstairs napping in the middle of the day on a Saturday, something she never does. She really wishes she’d tell her so she can be excited about it.

 

But if they’re not ready, they’re not ready. They may be unusually invasive about some things, but they deserve their privacy. She’s just really hoping that she’s going to have another kid to spoil. There’s nothing quite like giving a child sugar, making them love you, and then handing them back to their parents while you get to go home.

 

Yeah, David and Mary Margaret are totally going to give her hell for payback if she ever has any kids.

 

“David was being David, helping me through some stuff.”

  
  
Mary Margaret raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m totally going to need some more info on that later.”

 

David laughs before getting up from the window seat and walking over to Mary Margaret, kissing her lips and whispering something in her ear before ruffling Leo’s hair and talking to him. She smiles at their little family, thinking of everything David alluded to about them going through tough times too, and she feels better than she has all week.

 

* * *

 

 Her flats flop off of her feet as she walks down the hallway, an apple in her mouth and a box of files in her hands. She feels like she hasn’t stopped all day, her feet aching despite the lack of heels, and she hasn’t even had time to eat more than this apple that’ll likely get stuck on the desk and rot away from where she’s taken the singular bite out of it. But a new quarter means new financials and updating the files for the kids. It’s always busy, but this week especially so.

 

Ever since the Christmas gala, their donations have increased, and they bought a new computer system. Installing it and updating it has been exhausting, especially for a few of the older people she works with who have been totally against a computerized system. The worst thing, though, is that she’s having to manually enter everything. And manually entering everything means checking that all of their information is right before fiddling around with her computer. It’s not extremely complicated, but it takes awhile to get used to and to make sure everything is right as she logs it into the system. It doesn’t help that her hands feel like they’re cramping and her fingers are one more box of files away from falling off. That would probably be a medical first.

 

She’s still got twenty-three boxes in the file room, and it’s already six o’clock on Tuesday evening.

 

She’s going to lose her hands too. There’s no doubt about it.

 

And she sure as hell isn’t finishing these tonight, but she can at least finish this one box before going home.

 

Her office phone rings as she’s walking back into her office, and she drops the box on her desk before picking it up and pressing the buttons to hit speaker.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, beautiful,” Killian’s deep accent greets, the sound of a door shutting behind him.

 

“Hi,” she answers while her cheeks flush, sitting down in her chair and letting the wheels roll under her before pulling out a file to work on. “Why are you calling me at the office?”

 

“Couldn’t get you on your cell. Why are you still at the office?”

 

She groans, shutting her eyes for a moment before opening them and starting to type, knowing she can go to the gym and go home the faster she gets this done. She feels like she’s never going to get this done. “You remember how I said we’re having to manually enter all of our files so we can go digital?”

 

“I recall.”

 

“Well, it’s somehow just me doing this, and it’s taking forever. Like, this is all I’ve done since yesterday at eight in the morning. My hands are going to fall off.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Killian sympathizes. “Can’t someone help you? It’d be a pity for you to lose those hands. They do glorious things.”

 

“Oh gross,” she scoffs, scrunching her face up at how his voice deepened when he said the words. “How did you turn that into dirty joke?”

 

“I’m a man of many talents. But seriously, love. Don’t you have someone to help you?”

 

“Ruby does what she can, but everyone else is much more hands on and not computer savvy, which is ridiculous considering the year and their jobs. So I’ll just be toiling away in my cell of an office.”

 

“You poor unfortunate soul.”

  
  
“Exactly,” she laughs, kicking her shoes off and curling her legs underneath her. “So what are you doing? Filming?”

 

“Yep, taking a b-break,” he yawns, his voice broken and raspy, exactly how he sounds just as he’s waking up in the morning…or at least how she thinks from her one experience. “I cannot begin to express how excited I am to be finished in three weeks. It’s not quite the same filming and then coming home to an empty house when I had a pretty good house guest last week.”

 

“Charmer.”

 

“I try.”

 

She and Killian chat for awhile, filling each other in on their days, and while she wasn’t planning on talking to him about the Liam thing again, she just typed in the name William for one of their regular kids, and it’s all she can think about it.

 

“Hey, KJ?”

 

“Yes, ES?”

 

She chuckles under her breath. He does that nearly every time she calls him KJ, and it drives her crazy. But it’s not going to make her stop. If he can call her every nickname in the book, she can have one for him.  “Have you talked to your brother since…you know?”

 

The line is silent and she wonders if she’s taken it a step too far, but then she hears an overexaggerated sigh and can practically see him running his hand through his hair. “I have not. Why do you ask, love?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe because I’m curious. I don’t want you two to be broken up over me.”

  
  
“He was a bloody wanker to my girlfriend. I’m not just going to be over it.”

 

If she was holding a phone, she’s sure she’d drop it. She knows they’re dating, has said as much herself, but they’ve never defined it in terms like that. And she kind of feels like she’s fifteen and being kissed for the first time by Michael Kaleb after school. He’d turned out to be a jerk, but the moment was still nice. Just like this one.

 

So she smiles to herself while doing a little dance in her chair and tucking her hair behind her ears before going back to typing and talking to her… _boyfriend_. Yeah, she definitely feels like she’s fifteen again. “Killian, you guys have to talk. You can’t be pissed forever.”  
  
“I can try.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s not what you or me or even Liam needs. I personally think you should talk to him and work things out. And then next time I’m in LA, I’d like my chance, which likely won’t be nearly as nice as yours is, with him.”

 

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he chuckles even if it doesn’t sound as joyful as his usual laugh. “He was an arsehole. But you’re most likely right, which I kind of hate.”  
  
“So you’ll think about it?”  


“I’ll think about it.”

 

“Good. Also, I’d just like to apologize in advance for when David does something similar to you. I told him not to, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a way.”

 

“Well, we’ll just call it even, Steven.”

 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

He snorts on the other end of the line, his distaste for her using that phrase so often waning a bit, and if anything, she’s at least accomplished that.  


Killian has to go back to set at the same time she finishes her box of files, and as much as he helped her get through the rest of the day, she’s glad that he has to go if only because it means she’s closer to getting home and getting into her bed, something she’s been craving all day.

 

* * *

 

“So what are we eating?” Ruby yells from the couch only for Mary Margaret to scold her and tell her not to yell. Such a mom.

 

“I don’t know.” She ruffles through her fridge, trying to see if there’s anything edible, but it’s mostly just milk and eggs. “I can make, like, omelets or something. Or we can order takeout.”

 

“Takeout,” Ruby and Mary Margaret yell at once.

 

“Hey, I can cook.”

 

“You can cook some things,” Mary Margaret corrects, standing from the couch and walking the few steps to the kitchen, placing her hand on Emma’s bicep and squeezing, “but we’re having girls’ night on a Thursday when we all have work in the morning. We should at least eat something really indulgent.” She shuffles through Emma’s takeout menu drawer, throwing out everything until she finds the Shun’s Kitchen menu. “Let’s eat this.”

 

“Really? Didn’t we have Chinese at your house on Saturday?”

 

“Yeah, but I’ve been really craving it lately. I devoured the leftovers after you left.”

 

Emma quirks an eyebrow at Mary Margaret’s statement. She gets craving Chinese. She craves it all of the time, but she’s also not pregnant and the absolute worst at keeping a secret. But it’s whatever. It’s not her secret to expose. She’s just surprised Marg has so much resolve. At this rate, David is going to burst first.

 

“Okay, why don’t you order whatever you want then, and I’ll go find something to watch.”

 

She steps over to the couch, plopping herself down next to Ruby whose fiddling on her phone and flipping through shows on Netflix, trying to find something to play in the background.

 

“So preggo over there still pretending not to be pregnant?”  


 

“Yep.” She continues to scroll through Netflix, realizing she’s spent far too much time sitting on her ass watching TV with everything she’s seen because there’s absolutely nothing to watch. “Who are you texting?”

 

“Um, excuse me,” Ruby scoffs, holding her phone against her chest, “who are you? You are certainly not Emma Swan, private person extraordinaire who doesn’t ask personal questions so as to avoid having to answer personal questions. Because first you’re super into Marg’s pregnancy, and now you want to know who I’m texting. That’s not you.” Ruby bops her nose then, and she scrunches her face up, knowing that Ruby is right. “Nosy.”

 

“Can you blame me?” she shrugs, curling her feet up underneath her.

 

“No, but it’s really not anything. It’s just Victor.”

 

“Wait,” she slaps Ruby’s leg, “are you seeing him again?”

 

“Maybe,” she admits, curling into herself and rubbing where Emma hit her. “It’s…I ran into him while running in the park a few weeks ago, and we’ve been talking. It’s not dating or anything, but you know I still like him.”

 

“You still like who?” Mary Margaret asks, settling herself down into the recliner and propping her feet up on the ottoman.

 

“Victor.”

 

“Shit,” Mary Margaret whistles as everyone breaks out into laughs at the woman who is pure as snow cursing. “How did this happen?”

 

“It just kind of…did? I’m not sure if it’s going anywhere, but I kind of want it to. I mean, we’re older now. We’re in the same city. We’re not going to be trying some long-distance relationship while he’s in med school. That sucked and obviously didn’t work out even though there was nothing wrong with us.”

 

Her throat constricts at Ruby’s words, a lump forming and lodging itself there. The words are a little closer to home than Ruby probably intended them to be, and as much as she’s trying to have this conversation with Ruby, to be there for her friend, all she can think about is she and Killian. It’s…she hates being the girl who’s always thinking about her relationship, who can’t think about other things. And she’s not always thinking about Killian. That would be ridiculous. She has a job, friends, interests of her own that keep her occupied, but he’s managing to snake his way into little parts of her life. It’s not a bad thing. It’s good really. She just feels guilty that she’s about to how some kind of mini freak out when she doesn’t want this night to be about her.

 

But Ruby talking about she and Victor’s long-term relationship from after college, when Victor moved to Atlanta for Medical school and Ruby stayed here, is getting to her. They were great together, two eccentric and outgoing people who worked really well together, and deeply in love. But the strain became too much on them, especially with Victor’s inability to leave to visit because of how busy he was.

 

She…she and Killian are like that, and they’re not in love. They’re getting to know each other, maybe making their way there, and they’re doing the exact same thing. How are they supposed to last when they have all of these obstacles between them? She’s seen him in person twice. Once for a few hours when they were meeting and the second time for a week where she almost immediately slept with him.

 

What the hell is she going to do next if that’s how she progresses through this relationship? Marry him? That’s fucking ridiculous.

 

“Hey,” Ruby nudges her, shaking her out of her thoughts, “where’d your head go, Ems?”

 

“Nowhere,” she lies, plastering a smile on her face.

 

“You just zoned out through all of my spiel and for dinner getting here. If I wasn’t so concerned, I’d honestly be impressed.”

 

“It’s nothing,” she promises, the words sounding untrue on her tongue. God, she really sucks. She just did this to David and now Ruby. She can’t keep doing that. “I’m sorry for zoning out. Just, feel free to tell me anything and everything you want, and I will listen to all of it.”

 

“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Emma Swan.”

 

“I know.”

 

The three of them eat their food while Ruby recaps all that she just said. She’s so happy, her face lighting up with joy, and it lifts some of Emma’s burdens getting to see her best friend like this. Maybe it’ll work out and maybe it won’t, but Ruby’s trying. That’s the important thing. She may sound like Mary Margaret, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing as she’s learning little by little.

 

It’s a girls’ night like any of their other girls’ nights, the three of them dissolving into conversation and laughter, especially when they discover Instant Hotel on Netflix and absolutely lose it watching the ridiculous groups of people showing off their home. But it is Thursday, and they have work in the morning, so Ruby and Mary Margaret leave at ten, leaving her with all of the leftover food.

 

She’s getting ready for bed, scrubbing her face wash over her face, when her phone rings. Her hands are covered in acne solution, so she uses her elbow to answer, barely escaping knocking her phone into the toilet. “Hello?”

 

“Hi, Swan. You awake?”

 

“Yeah, but I’m getting ready to go to bed.”

 

“Do you need me to just try you tomorrow?”

 

“No, no,” she promises, grabbing a wash cloth and wiping down her face, “I can talk to you. We keep missing each other, so I’m good to go. Just gotta rub a hell of a lot of creams on my face so I don’t become old and wrinkly like you.”

 

“Oi,” Killian laughs while she rubs her moisturizer on, “I am not old and wrinkly, love, and I don’t appreciate you saying that when you know otherwise.”

 

“Do I? I’m not so sure. I definitely saw some.”

 

“You’re being cheeky tonight, Swan.”

 

“It was girls’ night tonight, so I’m in a pretty good mood.”

 

“Really now? You, Ruby, and Mary Margaret?”

 

“Yep.” She leaves the bathroom and crawls into her bed, pulling the covers over her chest and propping her phone up under her chin. “You still filming?”

 

“No, actually. We had late night last night and got finished around noon this afternoon, so I’ve just woken up. I’m about to go to the gym.”

 

“Sucks for you.”

 

“Yeah, well, I had a house guest that kept me away from my workouts, and my trainer has decided to make my life hell ever since.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“I’m not. It was a bloody good week.”

 

He sounds so happy, and she gets it. He makes her happy, but she misses him. She didn’t think it was possible to miss someone so much after rarely seeing them, but she does. It’s stupid and weird, but it’s her life now. It’s only been a little less than two weeks, and she feels like she’s going crazy. She doesn’t know how people do this and actually have it working out.

 

“You’ve gone silent there, Swan. What’s up?”

 

“Nothing, I just…I was thinking.”

 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

 

“What are we doing, exactly? Like, we’re dating aren’t we? You called me your girlfriend over the phone the other day, but I didn’t want to say anything. It’s not that I didn’t like that. I did. A lot. It’s just, like, we’re doing everything out of order, and as great and as natural as it is most of the time…I need some sort of explanation or to have a conversation and wow am I rambling. I’m so, so, _so_ not good at this.”

 

Killian chuckles on the other end of the line while she wishes she could take back her word vomit. She should not have said all of that, but at the end of the day, she really does need some kind of clarification. She’s also glad she’s not Facetiming him because she can literally feel how red her cheeks are. And she’s sure Killian’s got his hand scratching behind his ear thinking that he’s involved himself with a crazy woman.

 

“Well, first of all, love, I’m not bloody good at this either. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a relationship, which is what I’m thinking this is if you’re amenable to that?”

 

“I am.”

 

“Okay, so we’re in a relationship even if we both bloody suck at it. I’d like to sound half my age and call you my girlfriend, unless you have any other suggestions for the word? Partner, significant other, special friend, lover?”

 

She snorts, turning in bed and curling up on her side, moving the phone with her so it rests on her pillow. “Lover. Definitely lover. I think that’ll be the best way to introduce you to people. Hi, this is my lover.”

 

“Well alright then, _lover_ ,” he accentuates the word, lowering his voice and making it as seductive as possible, “it’s settled then. Does that clear up your worries?”

 

“It does,” she chuckles, a yawn interrupting her laugh. “Do you think I’m crazy for freaking out about that?”

 

“No, love, never” Killian promises, and she believes him. Wholeheartedly. Is her heart fluttering in her chest? Shouldn’t she be worried about that? She’s pretty sure that’s how people die. “It’s like you said, both of us are taking a leap of faith, and it’s only going to work if we both do it. I think being clear on what’s happening is totally reasonable.”

 

“For someone who isn’t a relationship expert, you seem to be very sensible.”

 

“Yeah, well, my sister-in-law gave me a talking to yesterday. She gave me some tips.”

 

“Yeah?” she yawns again, wiping away the sleep in her eyes.

 

“Yeah, but I’m going to tell you about it tomorrow. You’re tired, lover.”

 

“Shut up,” she laughs, even as she reaches over and turns off her bedside lamp, shrouding the room in darkness. “You’re being ridiculous.”

 

“Ridiculous, but I’m your lover. And I’m in this for the long haul, by the way. I thought you should know that.”

 

She does, and she is too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate you guys so much :D


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, a new chapter in less than a week! It's obviously a miracle chapter :D

His legs burn as he runs up and down the sand, stopping and squatting each time he reaches a marker that he set out nearly an hour ago. He’s covered in sweat, the unexpected heat of Santa Monica in early April not helping matters, but even as his shorts cling to his thighs and his body feels like it’s not his own from the way his heart is thumping in his chest, he can’t stop until he’s finished. He needs the physical exertion to work out his frustrations, to clear his mind of anything and everything and just exist as someone who can do the things his workout asks of him.

 

Even when everything else in his life is frustrating and seems impossible, he knows that he can rely on pushing his body to its limits and controlling exactly what he does. It brings him a sense of comfort he didn’t always feel while exercising, but as his feet sink into damp sand only to be released and sink into soft, uneven ground that make his legs burn, he’s thankful for this. He’ll feel it later and regret pushing himself like this, but right now, he can’t imagine doing anything else.

 

When he’s finished with his reps, his body screaming in protest of moving more, he jogs into the depths of the ocean, letting the salty spray coat him in water and wipe away the sweat and cover him in salt while cooling him down. The water is still bloody cold compared to the heat of the day, but he doesn’t mind too much at this moment. He will if he stays too long, but he’s letting himself breathe and pretend that he’s alone like he has been for the past hour.

 

There’s a photographer hiding out in some sea grass up by the fences, something that has pissed him off beyond belief. This is all a private beach, and the man is trespassing. But it’s not worth it to confront him and risk the consequences of how the man will interpret his complaint when he calls into his seedy office with what he found, so he accepts that there will be photos of him online before he even manages to get inside and shower. It’s part of his life, no matter how much he hates it, and Robin did tell him he needed to be out in public more so things like this didn’t happen. But how fucking ridiculous is that? He shouldn’t have to go out a certain amount of times so paparazzi don’t invade his home to get pictures of him.

 

That’s just…it’s ludicrous.

 

It doesn’t help that he’s right pissed over a lot of his life right now. He hasn’t spoken to his brother in the week and a half since Emma left, and Elsa texted him earlier saying she’s coming over for lunch, which means he’s about to get a talking to from his brother’s wife. It’s not that he doesn’t love Elsa. He does. She’s one of his best mates, but much like his brother, she often treats him as a child despite them being the same age. He’s not sure if it’s the motherly figure in her or the fact that she spends her life with Liam, but sometimes he can’t take the way they talk down to him even if they are trying to help.

 

So he’s anxious and angry and so not feeling like being told to go apologize to Liam. It doesn’t help that the only time he’s really talked to Emma this week is when he caught her on her office phone yesterday and with random, inconsistent texts throughout the past few days. Last week was better, but their schedules and the time difference are mucking a lot up.

 

He wades out of the ocean, running his hands through his hair and trying to get some of the water out before he trudges inside, the uneven sand making his legs burn even more as the adrenaline wears down and he’s left feeling like weighed-down jelly. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the photographer walk away, likely on his way to collect his paycheck for the pictures, and he sighs, resolving himself to this. It is what it is, as unfortunate as that saying is.

 

He bypasses going to get something to eat to head upstairs to shower, turning the knob for more hot water than cold and stripping down into nothing before stepping into the stone walls. Growing up, he remembers the apartment he and Liam shared having a shower that was barely large enough to breathe in, so the moment he was able to, he found a house with a shower large enough to move around in without hitting elbows or knocking his head against a glass door. So maybe he loves his shower a little too much, but he can feel himself relaxing as the steamed water hits his skin, washing away the sand, salt, and sweat.

 

As he washes himself, his mind begins to wander. And as it has for the past four months, it wanders to Emma. God, he misses her. He got so used to talking to her through a phone for nearly three months that he foolishly thought when she left that he’d be able to go back to that without too much issue. But that hasn’t happened in the slightest. There’s nothing that compares to seeing the way her mouth gapes open and her eyes crinkle when she laughs and watching how animated she gets when telling a story or eating dinner after not having eaten in hours. And there’s definitely nothing that compares to the softness of her lips or the feel of her skin moving against him.

 

It’s that thought that has his cock twitching to attention under the spray of the water, and he knows that he either has to take a cold shower or take care of this problem before Elsa comes over. They may be close, but his sister-in-law doesn’t need to see him with a constant bulge in his pants while he suffers through blue balls. So he takes himself in hand while thinking of his love, wishing it were her here in the shower with him, no matter how uncomfortable or unfortunately slippery that may be. It doesn’t take long, his body more keyed up than he thought, and as the pressure builds at the base of his spine, he attempts to block everything out but Emma and his memories of their one night together, coming on a stuttered gasp that makes his legs shaky and uneven in a way that his work out didn’t.

 

After he’s cleaned himself up from all of his morning’s activities, slathering himself down with body wash, he gets out of the shower and dresses in sweatpants and a t-shirt, not bothering when all he’s got to do today is meet Elsa here and then go to set tonight for filming. They’re so close to the finish line, only three more weeks, and as amazing as this project has been, he’s nearly ready for it to be over so he can take a break from working until promotions for the show to begin and before he has to start seriously looking for a new project. He has a few feelers out, knowing he can never really stop and that he never really wants to stop, but he thinks he may need a bit of a break.

 

He can also go see Emma when it’s over, and if anything, that’s making it seem like filming is lasting an eternity and some. How something lasts more than an eternity, he doesn’t know, but he’s apparently going to find out.  

 

When he makes it downstairs, his phone buzzes from where he left it on the coffee table in the living room, so he grabs it and flops down on the couch, letting his muscles relax from all of their exertion. Yeah, he’s definitely already feeling it. Work is going to be bloody torture tonight.

 

_Emma: Update. I still have hands, and I only have 18 boxes of files to go!_

_Emma: My job is really fun sometimes._

_Emma: And I’m totally treating myself to a giant milkshake after the gym today. So wrong and yet so right._

He chuckles under his breath, smiling at her messages and thinking about how good a milkshake would taste right now, strawberry topped with whipped cream and maraschino cherries. Yeah, he definitely isn’t supposed to eat something like that, but maybe he’ll get one at the end of the week too.

 

_Killian: Do your milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard?_

 

_Emma: Damn right. It’s better than yours._

_Killian: Don’t I know it?_

_Emma: Now I want the milkshake even more._

_Emma: The literal milkshake. Not whatever euphemism that song is about._

He hears his garage door opening as he’s texting back, and in his distraction, he puts his phone back down on the coffee table, hoping up and going to meet Elsa at the door. When he opens his side door, he sees her getting Aiden out of his car seat, and a smile breaks out across his face seeing his nephew when he assumed Elsa was coming alone.

 

“Hey, love,” he greets Elsa, stepping down into the garage and kissing her cheek before doing the same to Aiden. “And hey, my bud,” he whispers, realizing he’s asleep. “I didn’t know you were bringing him today.”

 

“Liam’s at the office,” Elsa explains, handing a snoozing Aiden to Killian, the baby snuggling under Killian’s chin while he supports him and Elsa gets her purse and diaper bag out of her SUV, “and I figured you wouldn’t mind. He’ll probably sleep for the next hour. Car rides do that to him.”

 

“I used to be the same way. That’s what mum always said from what I can remember.”

 

“Well, Aiden does favor you more than Liam, so we’re going to get in trouble if the similarities keep going.”

 

Elsa pats him on the shoulder before stepping inside, a smirk on her face. The woman jokes in the same way that his brother does, and he’s glad they have that with each other, even if they are both a little suggestive sometimes. Not that he can claim any differently. He’s likely worse than the two of them combined.

 

He follows Elsa inside, closing the door softly so as not to wake Aiden, and finds her already in the kitchen taking food out of his refrigerator and grabbing mixing bowls from their cabinets.

 

“What are you doing, lass?”

 

“Making fajitas. I saw that you had the stuff, I want them, and they’re easy enough.”

 

“We can just order in, El. You don’t have to make something.”

 

“I want fajitas, and we’re having fajitas while I talk to you about your brother because this is getting ridiculous. So will you please go put Aiden down in his crib upstairs? And don’t forget the baby monitor.”

 

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he laughs, heading toward the staircase and carefully walking to Aiden’s room, placing him in the crib and switching the monitor on before grabbing the corresponding device, heading back downstairs for what he’s sure will be an entirely unpleasant conversation no matter how soothing Elsa’s voice can be.

 

Elsa’s already got chicken on his stove, the sizzling meat heating up as he grabs them both glasses of water, cutting up the rest of the lemon Elsa was using and squeezing it into their glasses before propping himself up on the counter and waiting with an anxious knot in his stomach for Elsa to speak.

 

“So my husband was an asshole to you and your girlfriend.”

 

“That is an accurate statement.”

 

Elsa looks at him and rolls her eyes before focusing back on the stove. “Killian, Liam was wrong. I’ve only gotten his side of the story but even from what he’s said, I know he’s the one who messed up.”

 

“That is also an accurate statement.”

 

“Killian,” she admonishes, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him, “seriously. I know you’re pissed. You deserve to be pissed, but you can’t stay mad at Liam forever.”

 

“He fucking came into my house and threatened to call the police on my girlfriend, El. And then he acted all high and mighty, telling me that he knew best and that being with Emma isn’t a good idea. How the hell would he know what’s best for me?”

 

Fire burns in his belly as that morning comes back into his mind. It’s never really gone away, but standing here in the same place that he and Liam fought, flashes of words said and the arrogant look on Liam’s face come back to him. And then he remembers how despondent Emma looked, and how fucking pissed he is at his brother even if Emma and Elsa are trying to convince him to forgive Liam.

 

“It was a misunderstanding. He thought Emma was a fan who’d broken into your house. And I know he should have realized his mistake once you came down and explained everything, but can’t you understand where he was coming from?”

 

He huffs, putting his water down and crossing his arms over his chest. “I know he’s your husband and all, but I feel like you could try to see my side a little bit.”

 

“I do see your side, Killian. I’m trying to let you see his. Milah took advantage of you and destroyed you. You were barely yourself after her. You’ve had other women all take advantage of you and use you by saying they weren’t and weaseling their way into your life when really they were using you the entire time. You’re so trusting, Killian, and Liam and I don’t want you to get hurt like that again. He was trying to protect you.”

 

“But he doesn’t know Emma, and he shouldn’t be talking to anyone like that.” He runs his hand through his hair, making it stand up as it dries from his shower. He knows Elsa’s right, but it doesn’t excuse what Liam did. He should be the one to be here explaining things. He knows that he told Liam not to talk to him until he was ready, but Liam usually does what he wants. He’s surprised Liam hasn’t barged into his house again and forced him to listen. “Do you know how badly he almost screwed things up for us? Emma has been burned by people before, badly El, and we had just gotten together. The fact that she didn’t break up with me that morning still surprises me. Hell, if I were her, I would have gotten on that plane and never looked back. She might still do that.”

 

Elsa turns off the stove and scrapes the chicken and vegetables into a bowl before coming over and standing next to him, looking up at him with her kind blue eyes and a genuine, soft smile that he’s come to associate with her. “Hey,” she soothes, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing, “you’re selling yourself short. If Emma is as wonderful as you think she is, she’s not going to give up on you. You’re sure about this one, aren’t you?”

 

“God help me, but I am. I love her, El,” he quietly admits, closing his eyes and trying to contain all of the emotions threatening to spill out of his eyes. “I’ve got no clue when or how this happened because she’s _so_  not there yet, but I love her so damn much.”

 

“Then it’s going to be okay. Things between you and her are going to be okay. I think things between you and Liam will be okay when you’re ready for it. He’s waiting on you, surprisingly enough. I love him, but all of his huffing around the house is damn annoying. So feel free to yell at him for what he did sometimes soon.” Elsa squeezes his shoulder again before clapping her hands together. “Life has a funny way of working itself out. Now let’s eat and you can tell me all about this girl of yours since she apparently lives across the country, and I can’t go meet her.”

 

Elsa and Aiden leave when he goes to set, pulling out of the driveway at the same time that he does. He feels infinitely better about everything after talking to Elsa. She really is like a sister to him, maybe a bit like a mother, and as annoyed with his brother as he still is (even if it’s significantly less annoyed than he was a few hours ago), he knows that Liam deserves to have a partner as wonderful as Elsa to ground him and be there for him. He and Liam have been through a hell of a lot in life, but so far, they’ve always come out better on the other side.

 

He still feels like yelling at the wanker, but he knows he’s not going to be pissed at him forever.

 

* * *

 

 He finishes filming the second to last episode of _Highland Waters_ Monday morning around three, and as thrilled as he is to be close to finished with filming, he’s mostly thankful that they get a day and a half off. All he wants to do is sleep and stay burrowed away in his bedroom for thirty-six hours without any interruptions, but knowing his life, it’s not going to happen, especially since Robin and Will are coming over to watch the United match tomorrow afternoon.

 

Why the hell did he agree to that?

 

“Because you need to spend time with your bloody mates,” he murmurs to himself as he walks in his garage door, dropping his keys in their dish and disabling his alarm system. “And now you’re talking to yourself because you’ve gone mad.”

 

He chuckles under his breath, fully accepting the hysteria and sleep deprived delusion before making his way upstairs and to his bedroom. His legs feel like lead, weighing him down as he walks, and he doesn’t bother changing before plopping down on the mattress and pulling his comforter up over his body while trying to find something to watch on his TV since he’s sure it’ll take him awhile to fall asleep tonight.

 

His phone buzzes on his lap, and he knows the only person who could possibly be texting at three in the morning is Emma who must be up getting ready to go to work.

 

_Emma: Facetime tonight?_

_Killian: Yeah. Everything good?_

_Emma: I’m fine. Just want to see your face._

 

He snickers to himself before lifting his phone in the air and snapping a picture of himself, the flash makes his eyes squint closed, and when he looks at the picture, he has one eye blown open while the other is entirely closed, the lines around his face prominent as the light washes him out. His hair is another story. He looks ridiculous, but he sends the picture to her anyways.

 

_Emma: Woah, you’re looking nice this morning._

_Killian: I prefer devilishly handsome._

_Killian: I just got home from work. I haven’t had my beauty sleep yet._

_Emma: Well, you need it KJ. It’s rough._

_Killian: Minx._

_Emma: You know it._

 

When he opens that text there’s a picture of Emma with half of her hair curled, the other half pinned to the top of her head, and her blouse unbuttoned to show her bra. She’s got a piece of toast in her mouth, and he smiles getting a little bit of a glimpse into her morning routine.

 

_Killian: Are you sure you got your beauty sleep there, Swan?_

He waits for his phone to buzz, continuously checking to see if the bubbles showing Emma’s texting back pop up, but they never do. He figures she just got distracted getting ready for work, so he doesn’t think too much about it, tossing his phone onto the mattress and settling himself in to watch Jessica Jones. It’s really a dumb choice for him to watch because he’ll get caught up in it, but as time passes, the fatigue begins to catch up with him and he falls asleep.

 

He wakes to his doorbell ringing, and as he groggily rolls over and fumbles for his phone. In his dreary state, it takes him a moment to find his security app, but when he does he can very clearly see Liam standing on his front porch and swaying back and forth while he messes with the hem of his t-shirt. Groaning, he throws his covers off of him and stumbles out of bed, nearly tripping on his pants as he makes his way downstairs and to his front door, swinging it open and standing face to face with his brother for the first time in over two weeks.

 

“You have a key,” he huffs, wiping away at the sleep in his eyes before stepping back and silently telling Liam to come inside.

 

Liam shrugs, his face completely neutral as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Didn’t exactly go well the last time I used it, so I didn’t want to take any chances.”

 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to have to call the police on you for being somewhere where you’re allowed access.” Liam grimaces, the words obviously having their intended effect. If he wanted a better reaction, he shouldn’t have come when Killian was just waking up from getting to sleep. He’s much kinder when he’s slept. “Why are you here, Liam?”

 

“Can we sit down?”

 

“Aye.” He walks toward the living room and settles down in his recliner, crossing his arms over his chest and quirking an eyebrow at the way Liam can’t seem to settle on a spot to sit. He finally does, taking the end of the couch furthest away from Killian. “So, why are you here?”

 

“I’m heading to New York for a conference tonight, and I didn’t want to go while we were still fighting. It’s been two weeks, little brother. It’s time we talk.”

 

“Younger,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose while trying to calm himself down and prepare himself for this. He calmed about it after Elsa’s visit, but he’s still pissed. “I’m younger, and you know that. But fine. Talk Liam.”

 

“I fucked up Killian, and I’m sorry.”

 

“Is that it?”

 

Letting out his breath, he sighs, running his hand through his hair and causing the curls to stick up on the right side. “I fucked up. I treated you like you were a kid when you’re not, haven’t been in years. I was wrong to treat Emma that way. I was wrong to treat you that way. It’s inexcusable.”

 

“Well, just…Liam, you can’t do shit like that anymore. I’m not the kid I used to be. I know what I’m doing. I love you so damn much, and I love that you’re trying to protect me – ”

 

“But?”

 

“But what happened isn’t okay. I told El this already, but you could have screwed up one of the best things to happen to me before it even really began. Emma isn’t taking advantage of me. She’s not a psycho fan. She’s someone who understands me, which is not something I get a lot.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I obviously wasn’t. I was a right wanker, and I’m really hoping you won’t think that about me forever.”

 

“Liam, I’m always going to think that about you.”

 

“Shut it, Killian.”

 

“No,” he laughs, the tightness in his chest loosening a bit as Liam’s apology begins to sink in, “You fucked up my life for a few days and made my girlfriend nearly end it all, so I fully plan on making you earn your forgiveness.”

 

“So your girlfriend, huh? That’s official now?”

 

God, he can’t believe how quickly the conversation changed, the emotional charge changing into brotherly teasing, but that’s always been how the two of them are. They say what they need to say, see if they can accept it, and then try to move on.

 

“Well, I believe we decided to call each other _lovers_ , but yes.”

 

Liam groans and his face scrunches up in disgust that causes Killian to chuckle. “Should I even ask?”

 

“Probably better if you didn’t. Wouldn’t want you choking on your own saliva.”

 

Liam laughs a bit, closing his eyes and shaking his head back and forth in amusement. His shoulders are less tense than when he walked in, and Killian notices that his are too. “So are we good, Killian? Do you need to punch me? Knock out my teeth? Tell me to fuck off about ten more times? I’m willing to suffer through all of it.”

 

“We’re good,” he promises, really and truly meaning it. He had begun to forgive Liam before he even showed up today, but hearing the words solidifies it for him. “But if you ever do something like that again, it’s not going to be this simple, Liam. And if Emma ever comes back here, you owe her one hell of an apology after she tells you to fuck off ten times and possibly knocks out your teeth. She deserves at least that.”

 

“Aye, I know. I deserve at least that too.”

 

“Great,” Killian sighs, rubbing his hands up and down his face. “When’s your flight? Do you need a ride to the airport?”

 

“In three hours, and I’ve got my car.”

 

“Cutting it kind of close there. What would have happened if I hadn’t been the best man in the world and forgiven you so easily?”

 

“I’d have missed the bloody flight until you did.”

 

Liam leaves after they talk a bit more, the normalcy of their relationship returning and causing him to feel much better about everything. He knows that forgiveness doesn’t happen in a day and there will be times when their relationship is stilted, but that’s the thing with his family. He’s only got Liam. He’s always had Liam. Through the years they’ve gotten into more arguments than he can count, but at the end of the day they have each other’s backs despite the fact that they can both royally fuck things up.

 

He wants to fall back asleep now that he has the house to himself, but he finds himself full of energy. So he fixes himself a cup of coffee, waking his body up more, before deciding to clean the house. It’s been a long time since he deep cleaned everything. He’s usually tidy, his house never really a mess, but he needs to clean the bathrooms and wipe down his kitchen counters. He should probably change all of the sheets in the bedrooms too.

 

So that’s exactly what he does, turning on the speaker system in his house and blaring music while cleaning absolutely everything that he can. He’s covered in sweat and his back hurts by the time he’s halfway finished that evening, and he’s determined to power through the master bath. That’s when his phone rings and he remembers Emma and her request to facetime.

 

He scrambles to his phone, missing her first call, so he plops down on his sheet free bed and calls her back, the screen showing his face until she picks up. She looks…exhausted. Her hair is pushed back into a bun, tendrils falling from where she’s probably scratched at her scalp all day, and she’s removed her makeup. He wouldn’t usually notice, but she has a black streak across her eyebrow where she very obviously wiped her mascara off and accidentally marked through her brow.

 

“Hey, love,” he smiles, pushing some of his hair to the side in an attempt to make himself not so…disheveled. He’s been disinfecting the house, but really, he needs a shower to make himself clean. “How was your day?”

 

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes in what he’s decided is her signature move when annoyed, so it obviously wasn’t good. “In a word, awful. You?”

 

“I talked to Liam today, sorted through our whole mess, and he’s very graciously agreed to let you knock his teeth out and tell him to fuck off next time you’re here.”

 

Her lips twitch the slightest bit, like she wants to smile but can’t. “That’s so good, KJ. I’m happy for you.”

 

Her voice isn’t…it’s not Emma.

 

“Emma, what’s going on with you?

 

Her lips go from twitching to quivering, and she wipes at the tears slowly spilling from her eyes. His heart plummets at the sight even if he knows that’s physically impossible, and he’d give anything to not be three thousand miles away from Boston. But he is, and there’s nothing he can do to change that right now.

 

Emma has said time and time again that she’s not a crier, so seeing her break down like this concerns him on more levels than one.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, whispering into the phone in the most soothing voice he can muster while he watches her sniffle on the other end of the line, “Emma darling, it’s fine. You’re fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“It w-was…it was just a bad day. It’s stupid.”

 

“Never, Swan.”

 

She laughs, but it’s a watery chuckle that gets caught in her throat and somehow manages to travel to Santa Monica and land in his stomach.

 

“I miss you,” she sighs, looking into the camera with bright green eyes and wet lashes.

 

“Now, love, how could you missing me ever be stupid?”

 

“Because I’ve only ever seen you in person twice. Shouldn’t there be some kind of rule about that? You can’t miss someone you barely know.”

 

That stings, but he tries not to grimace or say something harsh in retaliation. He should have figured that Emma being so openly vulnerable would come with complications and hesitation. He just didn’t prepare himself for it. But this is how she deals with things, and letting her do that is something he has to do. He can’t expect her to handle things in the same way he does. They’re different people, and that would be ridiculous.

 

“Hey,” he soothes instead of saying all of the words piling up in his mind, “we do know each other.”

 

“But do we? I just…I feel lost today.”

 

“I know that your favorite color is red, you say your favorite food is grilled cheese but you actually prefer cheeseburgers with no toppings, your favorite movie is the Princess Diaries because you always hoped that you’d find a long lost family, especially one with a grandmother as cool as Julie Andrews. Um, let’s see, let’s see. What else? You wear a size seven shoe, but you go half a size bigger with your heels for swelling. You have trouble sleeping at night if you have coffee past six in the evening. You can sing bloody brilliantly, but you only sing in the shower because you don’t think you’re very good.”

 

“Killian, those are all – ”

 

“No, no, darling. Let me finish. I have a lot of stored Emma Swan information up in this brain of mine, and I intend on using it if only to prove a damn point to you.”

 

She sniffles again before hiccupping, and that’s a little better than before. Especially when she smiles.

 

“Your feet are ice cold at all times, so that’s why you’re always in socks. You have a dot tattoo on your wrist because you freaked out about the needle, which is one of my favorite things about you. When you get playfully irritated, you scrunch up your nose in the most adorable little position. When you’re actually irritated, your lips form into a straight line and you may as well be able to shoot a laser beam with your eyes. You’ve got a bloody brilliant smile that makes me happy simply looking at it, even happier to be on the receiving end of it. Your kiss usually tastes like a mixture of your peppermint toothpaste and those bloody pop tarts, but sometimes it tastes like peppermint and the hot chocolate you love, with cinnamon of course.”

 

“Killian,” she pleads, her voice breaking in ways that he didn’t expect it to. He hopes he didn’t take it too far, make her too uncomfortable, but the words spewed off of his tongue without him thinking of more than letting her know that he does know her. “I…thank you. I know it was dumb to suggest we don’t know each other. We’ve talked to each other for, like, five months, but I feel like I’m failing at this. And the long distance doesn’t help. Ruby and Mary Margaret…I, well, I finally opened up to them about everything with us, but today has been so damn hard. I wish you were here.”

 

“Me too, love.” He softly smiles into the phone while he hears his washing machine ding downstairs, the small tune playing to indicate he needs to move the sheets to the dryer. “I bloody miss you. God, it’s insane how much, but in two weeks I’m coming to Boston, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…”

 

“It’s just what, Swan?”

 

She sighs, her eyes fluttering closed before opening back up. “So at work I haven’t always been in fundraising and public relations. When I first started, I worked with the kids. I’m not qualified to be a counselor or anything, but I’d talk to them, you know? I know what it’s like to be alone, and I like to think they found comfort in it.”

 

“They had to have, Emma. It’s so different listening to someone who’s experienced the things you have, who understands.”

 

“Yeah, but, um, there was this kid a few years ago. Her name was Alex, and I kind of took her under my wing. She was in between foster homes and staying at one of the facilities. The kid was brilliant, could do math like no one I’d ever seen, and we found her a good home. But I just found out she’s been arrested for theft, and the cops ended up finding out she’d been a dealer. That’s at least what David said. So I don’t know. I know a lot of kids fall down those roads because they don’t see any other option, but this one just hit me hard today, or yesterday really because that’s when I found out.”

 

He sighs, nodding in understanding. Emma’s obviously had a rough few days, and he wishes that he had the words to comfort her. There’s no preparing for things like that, and situations that hit you out of nowhere can often knock the breath out of you. She looks so small, broken, and that’s not Emma. She’s strong in her vulnerability. Not weak in it. Never.

 

“You’ve got a big heart, Emma Swan. You may not realize it, but you do. You help others every damn day, and while I wish Alex hadn’t gone through all of this, it doesn’t mean you didn’t help. Or that one day her life might turn around.”

 

“I just wish I could have done more.”

 

“You did everything you can.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“Like I said earlier, darling, I know you.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi, why don’t you have any beer, mate?”

 

“Because you were supposed to bring it, Will.”

 

“Bloody hell, no I wasn’t.”

 

“Yeah, you were, mate,” Robin adds in as he plops down in Killian’s favorite recliner, seemingly not at all bothered with the way he’s taking the spot Killian always sits in. “You bring beer. I bring food. Killian provides the telly because he makes a hell of a lot more money than all of us.”

 

“You make a portion of what I make, Rob,” he laughs, yanking the blanket off of Robin’s feet and sitting down on the couch with Will, “so I know that you can afford a nice television.”

 

“Yeah, but then we wouldn’t have an excuse to come over here and bother you.”

 

“Which isn’t anyway entertaining without beer.”

 

“Bloody hell, Will,” Killian sighs, throwing his head back against the couch while he finds the United game online, “I have rum, whiskey, wine, tequila. I just don’t have beer, and that is one hundred percent your fault. Just go find something if you can’t watch a noon match sober.”

 

“Geez,” Will whistles, staring at him with his eyebrows practically in his shaved hairline, “I was messing with you. You okay there, Jones?”

 

“I’m fine. Honestly.” He shrugs, smiling at his mates before looking back at the TV. “I guess I’m still a bit exhausted. These hours have been killing me, and I was up late last night.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he lies, not wanting to tell them about last night simply because he doesn’t want to share Emma’s private emotions with them. She’s trusting him with so much, and he doesn’t want to be the man who lets her down. He doesn’t want to be like all of the others. “So how badly do you think we’re going to kick Arsenal’s arse? Or do you think we’ll have our arses handed to us?”

 

“Not a chance.”

 

“Oh, there’s a little bit of a chance.”

 

Will eventually settles on a glass of rum, bringing the bottle with him to the living room as well as the bowl of burned popcorn that’s making his entire house smell. Will is a bit of an eclectic taste, the two of them really only friends because of Robin, but his life would be a hell of a lot less entertaining without him.

 

He’d have more rum, but his life would have one less sarcastic Brit.

 

There’s only so many of them in Southern California, but he’s obviously hoarding them all to watch football matches with him. United kicks Arsenal’s arse, and his house is likely louder than any in the neighborhood.

 

“Fucking ref,” Will hollers, getting up from the couch and standing in front of the TV as if the ref will be able to hear him back in England. “You can’t make calls like that.”

 

“Oi, William, sit down.”

 

Will shoots Robin a look, his eyes becoming slits while his lips purse. “My name isn’t William, Robin, and I am not Roland. You can’t put me in time out.”

 

“You’re standing in front of the bloody screen, mate. Even Roland knows not to do that.”

 

Will huffs before collapsing back against the couch, the pillows falling to the floor as the sofa is knocked back a few inches, and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s okay,” Killian teases him, reaching over and patting his knee. “Robin tells me what to do all of the time. It’s because he’s so much older than us and thinks he’s a father figure when really he’s just old.”

 

“I am four years older than you.”

 

“That’s a lot of years, mate.”

 

“Just shut up and watch the game.”

 

Killian snickers at his friends before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. It’s been buzzing for the past few minutes, but he’s been too entertained by his friends to check.

 

_Emma: Do you like baseball or is that too American for you?_

_Emma: Also, how drunk are you and the guys over this game?_

_Killian: Will is tipsy. Robin and I are fine. I’ve got work and all. And I love baseball. Why?_

_Emma: I’d say it’s a surprise, but I’m obviously taking you to a baseball game when you’re here._

_Killian: Are you sure we’re going to want to leave the bedroom?_

_Emma: …_

_Emma: Calm it down, Casanova. We can knock each other’s socks off and still watch the Sox._

He snorts underneath his breath, somehow amused and aroused at the same time, and when he looks up from his phone, both Will and Robin are staring at him.

 

“Is that Emma?”

 

“Dude, you’re blushing.”

 

“Oi, shut it, Will. And it is. We’re working on plans for when I go to Boston in two weeks.”

 

“So you’re sexting?”

 

“Will,” Robin groans, throwing a pillow across the room, “just because you have no filter doesn’t mean Killian doesn’t.”

 

“What? I’m just curious. I’m the only one who hasn’t met the girl, and I want to meet the woman who makes Killian blush.”

 

“You will. I promise. We’re going to map out our schedules when I’m there, so she’ll come back here eventually.”

 

“Sounds serious, mate.”

 

He shrugs, not really sure how else to answer but with the truth. “It is.”

 

_Killian: I like the way you think, love. I’m all for rounding the bases._

_Emma: Impressive double entendre._

_Killian: You could say it’s a home run._

_Emma: Hitting it out of the ballpark, KJ._

“Yeah,” Will sighs, “you’ve got it bad, dude.”


	9. Chapter Nine

“Well, yes Mr. Jackson, I totally get what you’re saying – ”

 

“ – I don’t think you do, Ms. Swan. You said that our funding would go toward something high profile.”

 

She pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath to keep herself from breaking down in the middle of her office while on an important phone call. Or to keep from yelling every damn obscenity she knows at this man.  “I understand, sir. You donated your money, which is something we are eternally grateful for and has helped us and the children more than you know, and you have a right to request how you want your funds used. But we consider upgrading our counseling offices to be high profile. There’s a plaque with your name on it just inside the door.”

 

“A plaque,” Mr. Jackson spits, his voice dripping with disdain. “I did not donate over a million dollars for a plaque. I was under the impression that I would also get some sort of publicity from you and Killian Jones.”

 

If she wouldn’t get fired, she’d tell Mr. Jackson to fuck off. She knows that there are people in the world who only “do good” for their own benefit, but calls like this make her feel like her blood is actually curdling within her veins. Seriously. What did he expect? Some sort of worldwide clap on the back for donating to an underfunded children’s shelter. What the actual hell?

 

“Mr. Jackson, Mr. Jones was only at the gala as a favor. He was promoting our shelter out of the kindness of his heart. He does not have any legal ties to us. But I promise you that I will look into your complaint, and I will see what we can do to make you happier with your donation, okay?”

 

He huffs, probably wondering if he can take back the money he’s donated even though it’s been months, but she knows that he can’t. If the money hadn’t been such a great thing, she’d suggest they give it back so as not to have any association with him. But what’s done is done, and they’re not exactly in the business of returning funds.

 

“Fine, but I’d like to talk to the head of your department next time to let him know how difficult it’s been dealing with you.”

 

“I’m sure _she’d_  be glad to speak to you. Have a good afternoon.”

 

She hangs up the phone and throws her head back before rubbing her hands up and down her face, fingers massaging her temples from that headache of a call. She’d pass along Mr. Jackson to Mrs. Ramirez any day of the week. He’s got to be the biggest asshole she’s dealt with all week, and she really hopes he won’t call again.

 

He will, but a girl can hope.

 

She listens to the rest of the messages she missed at lunch, the cupcake she bought for herself going uneaten on the corner of her desk, before returning as many calls as she can. No one calls all day, but she takes an hour to go out and buy a salad that’s not stale and suddenly everyone calls. Seriously, don’t these people take lunch breaks too?

 

Maybe Mr. Jackson has just soured her mood, but she’s ready for today to be over. The last week has been not-so-great. She’s not expecting everything to be sunshine and roses all of the time, but she’d like for work to not be a hell hole and for kids she once mentored to not end up in jail. There’s apparently been a few, more so than just Alex, and she had no idea. But everyone is right when they tell her it’s not her fault. She does the best she can, and these kids probably do too. Even when they’re placed in good homes, they’ve been through so much that they just don’t trust adults or authority figures. And as sad as it is, the many outweigh the few. She’s doing good work and trying her best to help kids who were once like her.

 

She came out of the system, damaged by not broken, and that’s honestly what she wants for others. A realistic happy ending.

 

That’s totally a thing. It’s like ballet flats instead of glass slippers even if both will probably make your ankles bleed. So maybe sneakers would be better. Who doesn’t love sneakers? She’d like a happy ending with sneakers.

 

Her cell buzzes on her desk, and she reaches over to grab her phone, remembering her cupcake (because that’s totally what goes with a salad) and swiping a bit of icing before swiping open her home screen.

 

_David: I’m grilling out tonight if you want to come over._

 

“Yes,” she moans, her lips stretching into a smile for the first time since before lunch. She loves when David grills, and she could go for a few beers and whatever it is he’s grilling. And she went to the gym this morning, so she doesn’t have to suffer through that before eating.

 

Her day is looking up.

 

She should probably stop getting so excited over food, but her cupcake and food cooked outside on a grill are infinitely better than her salad.

 

_Emma: I’ll be there._

* * *

She uses her key to walk in David and Mary Margaret’s front door, the smell of the grill permeating throughout the house even though she knows they’re cooking it in the backyard. She picks up shoes and toys on her way into the kitchen, dumping them in the basket they keep next to the staircase, before heading out back.

 

Mary Margaret is chasing after Leo who is chasing after Wilby. The dog almost seems to know what’s happening, stopping his running when Leo gets too far away and speeding up when Leo’s toddler legs get a little too close. It’s some kind of weird, perfectly domestic game, and when she looks to her left, there’s David standing at the grill wearing an apron that say Kiss the Cook.

 

Yeah, sometimes the Nolans are a little too much.

 

But she loves them and the way that they feed her, so she walks over to David and kisses him on the cheek (it’s what the apron commands after all) before lifting the grill’s lid and seeing that he’s simply cooking hamburgers and hot dogs.

 

“Why the hell did I smell barbeque when I walked in if it’s just hamburgers and hot dogs?”

 

“Nice to see you too, Emma,” David laughs before clapping her on her shoulder. “And it’s because we had the stuff for pulled pork sandwiches, but when I lit the grill for the first time, the fire got a little too enthusiastic and charred it. So Wilby is eating it now.”

 

“Ahh, yeah. The dog probably did that on purpose. We don’t call him Wiley Wilby for nothing.”

 

“I don’t think the dog knows how to mess with a propane tank. And no one has ever called him that.”

 

“Yes, but people…and dogs go to serious lengths for a pulled pork barbeque sandwich.”

 

“Emmy,” Leo screams when he spots her, and she immediately turns to see him running toward her instead of after the dog, the hood of his vest flopping behind him while his sandy blonde hair does the same thing.

 

“Hey, kid,” she greets, squatting down and opening her arms so that he can run directly into her. She loves her little buddy – and loves being his favorite person outside of his parents if she does say so herself – and she gets a little thrill with the way he gets excited to see her. It makes a girl feel good. Leo reaches her, and she immediately scoops him up in her arms, smothering kisses all over his face while he giggles against her.

 

“E-emmy. Emmeeeey,” he laughs, the sounds coming out on stuttered breaths while he squirms in her arms until she lets him rest. When he does, he cups her face and plants a kiss on her cheek like he does with his parents. “You tickle, Emmy.”

 

“Whaaat?” she overexaggerates, recoiling her head and raising her eyebrows. “Am I tickling you? I don’t think so. I’m not silly, am I?”

 

“Silly goose,” Leo giggles while his fingers find her earrings and mess with the dangling tassels.

 

Mary Margaret finally catches up with them, her normally perfect hair curling around the edges while she catches her breath. “Hey, Emma,” she breathes, stepping up and giving her a side hug all while Leo babbles on. “I’m so glad you captured this one because I am so done with kids today. At work and at home, my God. I can’t believe I’m having another one. I must be crazy.”

 

Emma’s mouth falls open at Mary Margaret’s words and the way she just let them slip. She must have had an usually bad day if she’s being loose lipped like that. It’s not that Mary Margaret is great at keeping secrets, but she’s been great at keeping this one.

 

At least verbally. Physically, not so much.

 

“Finally,” she groans, thankfulness at not having to hold her tongue on the subject anymore outweighing her happiness for Mary Margaret and David. She’s been happy for them for weeks. Now she wants to celebrate.

 

“Finally what?”

 

“Marg, you’re having another baby. You just let it slip even though I totally already knew.”

 

Mary Margaret’s jaw drops while her eyelids flutter like she’s trying to process how Emma could possibly know that she’s pregnant. “Did I…oh, shit, I did.”

 

“Language,” David laughs, looking over at them and shaking his head back and forth. “We can screw Leo up. He’s the first. The new one gets us as experienced parents, so we have to work on the language.”

 

“Nice, David. That’s totally how to be a good parent.”

 

  
“You’re the one who cursed in front of the kid when he’s in the repeating stage.”

 

“Mommy and Daddy are so silly, kid,” she sighs to Leo who’s watching his parents talk with hyper focus.

 

“Yeah,” he sighs, sounding like the most mature toddler in the world. “Put down, Emmy. I go play.”

 

She listens, knowing that Leo is the boss, and places him on the ground. He takes off immediately, running out into their small backyard and entertaining himself by running in circles. Weird, but you do you, kid. It’s then that she embraces Mary Margaret, squeezing tightly and holding her arms around her shoulder while rubbing up and down her back.

 

“Congratulations, Momma. How happy are you?”

 

“So happy,” she sighs into Emma’s neck, her voice sounding light and airy, before pulling back. “How long have you known? How did you know?”

 

Emma shrugs, not really sure of an exact time, but that doesn’t matter here. “A couple of weeks. You stopped drinking. You were taking naps. Your boobs are huge.”

 

“They’re glorious,” David adds in, and she and Mary Margaret both scrunch up their noses.

 

“How far along are you?”

 

“Fourteen weeks. I’m due in the middle of September.”

 

“Speaking of buns in the oven, dinner is served.”

 

“That’s a grill, David. Not an oven, but I applaud your dad jokes.”

 

It takes some corralling, but they all make it inside the eat, the early evening air still too chilled for them to sit outside. Even if David ruined the actual barbeque, her cheeseburger is still good. Of course, she doesn’t have super high standards for those even if they are her favorite food. The only ones she won’t eat are McDonald’s because, come on, it’s stale bread and processed cheese. At least their fries are good.

 

She’s really got to stop eating junk food. Maybe that should be her New Year’s Resolution…in the second week of April. Yeah, she’s totally not late. It’ll be, like, a spring resolution or something.

 

David regales them with stories from work even if she’s not sure homicide investigations can really be fun stories, but she kind of finds them interesting. In another life she might have been a detective. Maybe not for homicide, but she’s sure she could find something she’s interested in…and maybe not talk about in front of a two-year-old so he’s not going to daycare babbling about blood and gunshot wounds.

 

That would be quite the thing to hear from the kid.

 

Killian texts her throughout the dinner and even though she wants to answer as it’ll likely be the only time he’s free with his insane filming schedule as he wraps the show up, she tries to stay in the moment with her friends. She’s sure they wouldn’t mind, would probably encourage her to talk to him, but she’s making a conscious effort to balance her life here and her relationship that stretches out over the country. She thinks she’s handling it pretty well, her few breakdowns to Mary Margaret and Ruby as well as Killian put aside, but as time slowly inches by, she can’t wait until Killian is here next Monday.

 

It’s so different being with someone without really being with them, and as many nights as she goes to bed wishing Killian were here with her, she honestly thinks it’s helped her a hell of a lot. She knows that she’s bad at relationships, that things haven’t really worked out for her in the past, but she’s learning that those weren’t all her fault. She’s dated a hell of a lot of assholes. Really, she’s pretty sure all of the jerks in the world have some kind of communication network, and her number is at the top of their list.

 

But she’s trying. She’s willing to open herself up to vulnerability even if that scares the hell out of her. It helps that she’s in deeper than she has been in years, and even then, something about this one feels different.

 

Maybe it’s because how they met is so ridiculous, but this seems destined to either end up in flames or as that realistic happy ending she was thinking of earlier.

 

Killian can help her wear her sneakers.

 

That sounds weird, but it works for her…in her own head. She’s definitely not saying things like that out loud.

 

“So how’s work going, Ems?”

 

“Ugh,” she groans, throwing her head back and rolling her eyes, “don’t even get me started.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, KJ,” she begins after the sound of his voice message ends, “I’m sorry I missed your calls today. It’s been a week, but it’s Friday so yay, I guess. Um, anyways, call me back when you can. Hope you’re having a good day of shooting. Only three days left, babe.”

 

She hangs up the phone, putting it down on her kitchen counter and shuffling through her cabinets for something to snack on. It’s as she’s moving empty box after empty box, a few mismatched Tupperware containers in between as well as other random items that should not be in her kitchen cabinets (hello random nail polish that was definitely not this color when she bought it), she realizes that she has to clean her apartment. Like, really clean it. And wash her sheets. Definitely that. And probably wash some of her nicer bras…after digging them out of the bottom of her drawer.

 

Shit. She has so much to do, and she really doesn’t feel like doing it.

 

She should also probably buy some food Killian likes. He did that for her. It’s only right. And maybe she doesn’t really have any food in her apartment after not going to the grocery store this week, so she kind of needs the food for herself too. Nourishment and all that.

 

Is she nervous? Is that what this mixture of excitement and anxiety and stopped up throat with a bubbling stomach is? Is that nerves or excitement or anticipation? Maybe it’s a sign she should go to the hospital. The stomach bubbling thing sounds bad. She should probably go to the hospital for that.

 

Taking a deep breath, she calms herself down. She is excited for Killian to be here and anxious with how slowly time seems to be passing. It’s…something in the back of her mind is telling her that them being in the same place after five weeks apart will mess things up, but she knows that’s not true. Killian is different. This is different. And she wants it.

 

She wants it so much.

 

The proximity and nearness of him coming back to Boston has just freaked her out a little in what is definitely nervous anticipation.

 

He’s somehow made his way under her skin in the past five and a half months, and as terrifying as it is to think that he could up and leave any time he wants, she’s still convinced that this is a good one. He’s a good one, and she wants to keep trying.

 

So channeling her inner neat freak Killian, she cranks up the music on her phone before emptying out her cabinets, throwing away every bit of trash or stale cereal that she can find. She organizes her mugs and cups as well as her Tupperware, and after all of that is done, she moves onto wiping absolutely every surface in her apartment down. It’s not necessarily messy, but there’s definitely dust in a few places and the throw pillows on her couch scattered across the floor. But after two hours she has most everything wiped down, put back in its rightful place, and she has two bags of laundry to take to the laundromat sometime tomorrow.

 

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket, and she reaches for it, finding Ruby’s name on her screen.

 

_Ruby: Do you want to come over tomorrow night?_   
  


_Emma: To go out or stay in?_   
  


_Ruby: Stay in. I’m having a killer period, and I want to watch movies and eat chocolate._

_Emma: I’m not on my period, but I totally agree._

_Ruby: Soul sisters for life, Emma Swan._

She’s in the middle of texting Ruby back when her phone starts ringing, a picture of she and Killian on the beach popping up before she slides her finger across the phone and can hear his voice.

 

“So KJ and babe in one message, Swan. Don’t I feel special?”

 

Wait. What? What is he talking about? Has he officially lost all of his marbles? Is he experiencing some kind of sleep deprivation? Is she? Are all of the cleaning fumes going to her head?

 

“W-what are you talking about?”

 

“Hey, _KJ_ ,” Killian says, using the voice she’s learned he uses when learning a new script, “I’m sorry I missed your calls…blah, blah, blah then some other words…then you said that ‘there are only three days left, _babe’_. I got two nicknames from you in one message. I feel special.”

 

She feels the heat rise in her cheeks, embarrassment beginning to sink in. She had no idea that she even called him that. She doesn’t hate it. It’s just not something that she was expecting. It happened so…naturally. Her bubbling stomach starts up again before calming, something warm and comforting settling there instead.

 

Good. That’s probably less medically concerning than a bubbling stomach.

 

“I…shit. Did I really call you babe?”

 

“You did, my sweet cheeks.”

 

She snorts, shaking her head back and forth as she walks down the hall to her bedroom, opening the door and plopping down on her bed. “Okay, sweet cheeks is out. I will break up with you if you call me sweet cheeks.”

 

“Why, love? You do have such a delectable arse. I’d think sweet cheeks was appropriate.”

 

“And April nineteenth is the day that Emma Swan breaks up with Killian Jones for his use of awful nicknames.”

 

“A day that will live in my mind forever, sugar mama.”

 

“A sugar mama is something totally different.”

 

Killian laughs, something deep and low, and her body physically aches for him to be here. Two and a half days. It’s not long in the slightest. Nervous anticipation. Nervous longing. It’s all the same thing.

 

“Alright then, _babe_ ,” Killian drawls out, and she can practically imagine the smirk he has on his face. “In all seriousness, I’m sorry I missed your call. And that you missed mine. Was today any better than the rest of your week at work? I’m still willing to publicly embarrass Mr. Jackson since he seems to want to be associated with me.”

 

“I don’t want to get fired and live on the streets, so that doesn’t seem like our best option.”

 

“You make a good point, love. But seriously, you have any other work stuff you want to talk about? I’m always here for your venting pleasure.”

  
  
“Venting pleasure sounds like some kind of hella creepy sex act.”

 

“Did you just say hella?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You totally did.”

 

“You have no proof of that.”

 

“My bloody brilliant mind remembers all.”

  
  
“Your bloody brilliant mind is full of itself.”

 

Killian barks out a laugh, the sound loud in the speaker, and she wishes she could see him. “God, I fucking miss you, Swan.”

 

“I miss you, KJ, but in less than three days, you’re going to be crashing in my bed for an undetermined amount of days.”

  
  
“Speaking of that, we’ve got to talk about this plan.”

 

“What about it?”

 

She spies her clothes sticking out of her small closet, jackets and sweaters falling off their hangers, and she puts the phone on speaker before getting up and beginning to straighten her clothes. This cleaning adrenaline is definitely going to wear off at some point, and she just knows it’s going to be when she’s emptied out her entire closet and has her clothes scattered across her bedroom.

 

“So, I’ve looked at my schedule, and I can definitely stay until the fifth. That’s nearly two weeks, and I was wondering if you wanted me to get a hotel.”  
  


 

“Why the hell would you get a hotel?”

 

She stops moving her clothes so she can hear him better, trying not to let him wanting to stay in a hotel get to her.

 

“Because I wouldn’t want you to get sick of me after us bunking together for two weeks.”

 

Oh. That’s not at all what she thought. _He’s a good guy_ , she reminds herself, wishing she didn’t have to do that. The inner voice should not be in her head at all, and she knows that.

  
  
“Killian, that’s ridiculous. I haven’t seen you in over a month, and our last goodbye wasn’t exactly great. If you want to stay in my apartment for two weeks, you can stay in my apartment.”

 

There she goes. That’s more Emma than whatever weird Jiminy Cricket inner voice she has going on.

  
  
“Yeah?”

 

“Absolutely. We’ve got things to do.”

  
  
“Oh really? Like what?”

 

His voice is deep, salacious, and she almost says the dirty joke he’s reaching for. But she doesn’t, instead she says what comes to mind next. “Oh, you have to meet the firing squad. There’s no way they’re going to let you come here and not interrogate you. I told them not to, a lot actually with all of the Liam shit, but they don’t listen to me.”

 

“I shall wear my bullet proof vest then. But seriously, Swan, I’m excited to meet the rest of your friends. Bloody terrified but excited. And I imagine it’ll go much better than you meeting Liam.”

 

“You’re really weird if you’re excited to meet them.”

 

“Weird with a giant crush on you.”

  
  
“Aw babe, you have a crush on me. That’s so embarrassing.”

 

“I appreciate and applaud your Parks and Rec knowledge. It makes you so much hotter.”

 

“Good. I have a lot of it.” She really does. She makes as many pop culture references as the Gilmore Girls. Hell, she just made a pop culture reference while talking about making pop culture references. “So what are you doing? Are you not on set?”

 

“I am, but I’m in between scenes. I’m technically supposed to be reviewing my lines, but I’m talking to you instead.”  
  


 

“Rebel.”

 

“Undoubtedly.”

 

“It’s probably why you wear a leather jacket when you live somewhere that’s constantly sunny.”

 

“Oi,” Killian bellows, his voice taken aback at her insult to his precious jacket, “you’re one to talk.”

 

“I live in Boston. It’s cold all of the time.”

 

“And your jacket doesn’t do a thing for you. It does a few things for me, but it doesn’t do anything to keep you warm.”

 

“Kinky, KJ,” she laughs, thumbing at said red leather jacket in her closet.

 

“You may be the first person to ever call me kinky.”

 

“Well, you never forget your first.”

 

“Hey, that’s my line, Swan.”

 

She hears a loud banging in the background, the sound she’s come to associate with Killian having to go back to set. Disappointment settles in her stomach while the laugh lines on her face begin to fade. But she gets it. He has to work, and she definitely can’t begrudge him for that. “You gotta go?”

 

“I have to go, love,” Killian sighs. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”  
  


“Okay. Bye, KJ.”

 

“Bye, Swan.”

 

Like she knew it would, her desire to clean fades after their phone call ends, and she’s left with clothes strewn across the floor and on her bed. So she spends the night cuddled up in bed even with the clothes keeping her from sleeping in her usual position, and when she wakes up on Saturday, she lazily starts putting things away, spending so long at getting her apartment back to normal that she completely forgets to go grocery shopping and go to the laundromat before heading over to Ruby’s.

 

So she sets several reminders on her phone, making sure that there’s no way for her to forget, and heads over to Ruby’s to curl up under blankets with chocolates and popcorn and whatever Ruby wants while she’s having a bad period. It turns out that it’s watching bad action movies with even worse romantic plots and CGI, but Ruby can make anything entertaining, making up her own commentary and mercilessly talking about how Tom Cruise’s front teeth aren’t aligned with his face. She’d never noticed it before, but now she can never unsee that.

 

Victor comes over with Tai takeout around ten, dropping it on the coffee table in front of she and Ruby, kissing Ruby’s forehead, and then settling down in Ruby’s armchair while they stay on the couch. Eventually Ruby does get up to go sit with Victor, settling down on his lap and curling herself into him while his arm wraps around her shoulder and rubs up and down her skin. They’re sweet, which is not something Emma would have ever really described Victor as before. He’s always been a little odd, sometimes a little too out there, but he’s good for Ruby, and she’s thrilled that her friend is so damn happy.

 

Oh God. Is she officially turning into Mary Margaret? She thinks she might be. Though there is a little jealousy over the fact that she doesn’t get to do that quite yet, but she continues to think to herself, two more days. That’s all. So maybe not Mary Margaret levels quite yet.

 

When Ruby starts snoring, she takes that as her cue to leave, making her way back to her apartment and promptly falling asleep too, that warm feeling that’s beginning to feel familiar settling in her stomach again.

 

* * *

 

Emma’s got a bounce in her step all Monday. She loves her job, even with how rough it’s been lately, but she’s never quite _this_  happy walking the hallways after updating Mrs. Ramirez on their financials and upcoming projects. But today is different. There’s no one yelling at her on the phone, and she’s not getting any updates on kids she once helped out ending up in jail or in more bad homes. Mostly, though, it’s because she knows that Killian is on a flight somewhere over Arizona making his way to the east coast.

 

Yeah, something like that will definitely make her feel a little lighter.

 

“Your grin is freaking me out, Ems,” Ruby groans when she stops in her office after finishing counseling a kid. “You look like you’ve inhaled laughing gas or something.”

 

She shrugs, trying to downplay her eagerness. “I’m having a good day.”

 

“Yeah, that’s because you’re going to get laid tonight, and you know it.”

 

“I don’t _know_  it.” Ruby raises an eyebrow, her gaze never straying from Emma’s. “Okay, so maybe I know it.”

 

“Exactly.” Ruby picks up the picture frame Emma has of she and the Nolans on her desk. “Use protection, though. I can only handle one pregnant friend at a time.”

 

“You say this to the girl who doubles up on birth control and condoms. Also, Marg is not an annoying pregnant woman.”

 

“Ems, I know this. I’m talking about for my bank account. I can’t afford two baby blenders.”

 

“I know what you’re saying, but I really feel like you should rephrase calling a small blender for baby food a baby blender.”

 

Ruby shrugs, shaking her head back and forth before putting the frame back down. “You know what I mean. I’ve got back to back appointments for the rest of the day, but tell Killian I can’t wait to see him after you guys finish doing the horizontal tango until you can barely walk at work tomorrow.”

 

“I can’t believe you counsel troubled children.”

 

“I am damn good at my job, Emma Swan, but we can talk about that later.” Ruby walks out of the room blowing her an overexaggerated air kiss and waggling her eyebrows in a way that’s so similar to Killian that she can’t help but giggle into her hand.

 

The rest of her afternoon passes at a snail’s pace, but eventually the workday does end and she’s able to go running on the treadmill at the gym, making quick work of everything before sprinting the few blocks home and showering, knowing that Killian should be landing soon. She offered to pick him up at the airport like he did to her, but he told her he’d take a cab, not wanting her to bother with the traffic or interrupting too much of her day to deal with him.

 

She’s brushing her hair out, already dressed in leggings and a t-shirt, when there are three knocks at her front door. She practically flies out of her bedroom, tripping over a pair of shoes that didn’t make it in her cleanup of the apartment, and quickly walks down the hallway before unlocking the latches and swinging the door open to see Killian standing there with a smile on his face and her swan mug in his hand. He holds it up, sticking it out between them.  

 

“Did you forget something in California?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look you guys, they're together again!


	10. Chapter Ten

“Did you forget something in California?”

 

Emma’s standing in front of him with wet hair falling down her back and the brightest smile on her face. He’s not sure if it’s the color of her t-shirt or the smile on her face, but her eyes have never been so green. And she’s never been this beautiful. God, he’s missed her in a way that he’s never missed anyone, not at all caring how much of a sentimental fool that makes him.

 

He is one. Definitely.

 

“Hi,” Emma sighs, her shoulders slumping in relaxation as she moves toward him and wraps her arms around his waist as he does the same to her, the mug falling to the ground and clanking against the concrete. She’s warm against him and her hair smells strongly of the vanilla of her shampoo and body wash. He missed that, too, his sheets losing the scent after he washed them two days after her departure. He pulls her in a little closer, burying his head into her neck and kissing the skin there, and he simply savors this moment. He felt like he was never going to be here, the days and weeks seemingly stretching on longer than physically possible, but he is here. He’s here. They’re here.

 

“Hello, love,” he whispers into her neck before pulling back and releasing her to cup her cheeks, her skin as warm and as soft as her lips when he dips his head and bends his knees to slant his lips over hers. Yeah, he’s missed this too. He’s pretty much missed everything, but as she moves against him, her hands threading into his hair while the tempo of the kiss changes from soft and sweet to harsh and passionate, he knows that they’re not going to be wasting any time.

 

Emma pulls back from him when his tongue runs across the seam of her lips, but she doesn’t go far, resting her forehead against his while their breaths intermingle. “My poor swan mug has been abused since December. I hope you know that.”

 

“Oi, you were supposed to bring it back with you after your visit.”

 

“Only because you stole it.”

 

“Eh, that’s questionable. You did invite me into your apartment on the night we first met.”

 

“Speaking of,” Emma chuckles, pressing up on her toes and quickly sliding her lips over his, “do you want to come inside, KJ?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

She pulls back from him then, the loss of heat immediate, but then she’s bending down and grabbing her mug and his bag before walking inside, her hips swaying in a way that he knows is intentional. Bloody minx.

 

He follows her inside, stepping out of the cool Boston air and into the warmth of Emma’s apartment. He remembers it well, even in his brief night here, but he can tell the subtle differences. It’s definitely cleaner, and he chuckles to himself thinking of how she’s likely spent the entire weekend before straightening up. There are some new pillows on her couch, a new coffee table without stains and scuff marks, and she definitely painted. He’s pretty sure the walls were an unfortunate beige last time where they’re now a light mint green.

 

But the kitchen is still tucked into the corner of the room, more like a kitchen alcove than anything, and it smells of cinnamon from a candle that’s lit on the kitchen counter. He shuts the door behind him, realizing he’s left it open far too long, and twists her locks, making sure to get each bolt and chain. Emma’s standing in the kitchen alcove, rinsing off her mug as if she doesn’t think he did that before boarding his flight, and he shakes his head and walks over to her.

 

“I washed that, you know.” He wraps his arms around her waist, only the slightest bit of hesitance despite how they greeted each other. But she relaxes into his arms, leaning back against him and looking up at him with a cheeky smile before bringing her bottom lip between her teeth.

 

“I don’t know where you’ve been. This has been out of my possession for a long time.”

 

“Again,” he hums, taking the mug out of her hand and grabbing her left wrist before kissing the small dot that resides there, “that is only partially my fault. You had an opportunity, and you missed it, Swan.”

 

“And I’ve gone without coffee for so long without my favorite mug.”

 

He quirks an eyebrow as she turns in his embrace and wraps her arms around his neck. He’s very aware of how real this is, of how she’s actually here with him again, but he keeps waiting to wake up from a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened in the past few months. So his hands snake up underneath her t-shirt, feeling the warmth that’s radiating off of her soft skin and firm muscles, and he knows this is real.

 

Definitely.

 

“That is a lie, Swan.”

 

“Definitely a lie.”

 

Emma leans forward a swiftly brushes her lips over his, once, twice, three times, before he tugs her impossibly closer and runs his hands up and down her sides, feeling her lack of a bra and groaning into her mouth while his thumbs brush the underside of her breasts. Her breath is warm when she gasps into his mouth after he finds her nipples, feeling them pebble the slightest bit under his touch, and he smiles into the kiss, their teeth clanking together as their heads turn.

 

“I totally intended to talk to you and spend time with you and, like, just watch TV and eat dinner or something, but I’m kind of thinking that’d be a bad plan right now, KJ.”

 

  
“How so?”

 

Instead of answering his question, which was stupid on his part, she slides her mouth over his and tangles their tongues together in a slick, warm slide, his breath escaping him with every movement. He feels his body come to life slowly as they move together. He thought it would be faster than this, harsher, and more desperate, but it’s slow as their tongues dance together and his hands continue to run up and down her sides and her back while her hands stay firmly planted in his hair, tugging on the strands to keep them in place, occasionally bringing him closer.

 

So maybe she answers his question without any words. He never really needed the words anyways. Emma’s hands leave his hair and trail down his chest to begin tugging on his shirt, trying to get it off but with no success while his grip stays against her hips and his body stays melded into hers. She huffs, whines almost, and he laughs against her lips before kissing against her jaw, trailing along her jawline until he gets to her ear, nibbling the slightest bit, and he hears her moan the sweetest of sounds that nearly cause all of the blood to rush away from his brain.

 

He doesn’t need that anyways.

 

“You need to take – to take off your shirt.”

  
  
“An eye for an eye, Swan.”

 

“You mean a shirt for a shirt?”

 

“Aye, and then maybe we’ll do everything else.”

 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

“Oh, God,” he laughs, nipping at her ear one more time before pulling back and stepping out of her embrace, grabbing his t-shirt at the nape of his neck and pulling it off while Emma watches him with her bottom lip in between her teeth and with her eyes trained on all of the skin he’s now exposing. He feels his cock twitch in his jeans, tenseness in his spine building, and he’s honestly not sure how they managed to take it at this pace…not that it’s been entirely slow. “There, darling, I’m shirtless. Are you happy?”

 

“Very.” She quickly lifts her own t-shirt over her head, her bare breasts coming into view while her wet hair falls against her skin, gooseflesh immediately rising. “Shit,” she whines, quickly taking the shirt and squeezing out her hair in an attempt to dry her locks, “my hair is still far too cold and wet for this, hold on.”

 

God, he loves her so damn much, and watching her bounce around her kitchen half naked while attempting to dry her hair with her t-shirt is now one of his favorite things in the world, especially with the way she’s muttering curses under her breath and desperately twisting and pulling at her hair.

 

“Just pull it up, love.”

 

“I know, I know. It’s the principle of the thing. You could have shown up, like five minutes later, and I’d have had it mostly dry.”

 

“Oh, okay,” he chuckles, taking a step toward her front door, “so I’ll just step outside and wait five minutes, okay?”

 

“No,” Emma groans, grapping his wrist and tugging him back to her so that he’s following her out of the kitchen alcove and down the hall to her bedroom, “that’s not necessary in the slightest. I’ll just get pneumonia from my wet hair or something.”

 

“A very solid choice.”

 

Emma turns and enters her room before he does, immediately stripping down and out of her leggings and socks while he undoes his belt and slings it off before unzipping his jeans, struggling to get them down over his boots until he manages to kick those off as well. He leaves his boxers on as he stalks over to Emma, threading his hands through her damp, pulled up hair and kissing her while gently pushing her back on the bed, attempting not to knee her stomach or crush her with his weight. They keep with the same pace as earlier, but he can feel nearly every inch of Emma’s skin against his, their hips rutting together in a slow rhythm, and he thinks he might lose himself right then and there if they don’t stop. Forty or so days doesn’t seem that long in the grand scheme of things, but when you’ve just started something only to have it ripped away, it may as well be a lifetime.  

 

Or maybe he just desperately needs to be with her.

 

His lips trail away from Emma’s, tracing down the skin of her jaw and her neck, worrying the beginnings of a mark into her collarbone, only moving away so as not to actually leave a mark. He lets instinct lead him, listening to where Emma gasps and groans to know what he’s doing right for her. They’ve only been together for a few times, all in one night, so he still has to discover the ins and outs of what brings her pleasure. But as he runs his tongue around the perimeter of a nipple, he knows he’s found a sweet spot.

 

“Oh fuck,” she moans, bucking her hips up and harshly threading her fingers into his hair. “Do that again.”

 

So he does, tracing her skin with his tongue before kissing the pert nipple, sucking and teasing all while his hand teases the neglected breast, Emma’s heart beating wildly within her chest while sounds of pleasure escape her mouth. When her fingers become even tighter in his hair, almost hard enough to pull his hair out, he bites down for a brief moment, pulling away and standing up while Emma blinks up at him.

 

“What’s wrong?” she questions, curling in on herself.

 

“Nothing,” he groans, pulling his boxers down and freeing his cock from its restraints. “Absolutely nothing is wrong, but you are driving me insane.”

 

“Oh.” Her eyes trace him up and down, and he smirks, stroking himself the slightest bit while she watches, her tongue flickering out over her bottom lip. “Well, um, condoms are in the drawer.”

  
  
“That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Swan.”

 

“Shut up,” she laughs, sitting up and crawling over to her bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a box, ripping the package open before carefully tearing a foil package off of the strip.

 

“A new box, love. You keep proving that someone thought she was going to get lucky.”

 

“You are awfully cheeky for someone who’s going to get blue balls if I change my mind.”

 

“Right then,” he laughs, stepping over to her and sitting down on the edge of the mattress, reaching to take the condom out of Emma’s hand only for her to deftly roll it down over his length, her hands nearly as light as a feather, though that doesn’t keep every touch from driving him mad.

 

“Lie back.”

 

He does as she asks, maneuvering around and resting his head against the pillows while Emma follows him, kissing up his thighs and then straddling them, taking him in hand and teasing his tip between her folds until she slowly sinks down onto him, her walls encasing him in their heat. His hands find her hips even as his breath leaves him, but Emma doesn’t need him to steady her. She takes control, swiveling her hips up and down in slow, deep motions that make his eyes roll back.

 

She feels bloody fucking fantastic, every move of her body and bounce of her breasts driving him insane, and he tells her so through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw while his thumbs rub circles into her hips and her fingernails trace up and down his chest, tugging at the hair. When her movements start to falter, her legs shaking the slightest bit, he gently stops her movements, encouraging her to move off of him and lie on her back. She does so, her hair falling out of its loose band while she moves, and he takes but a moment to hover over her and cage her in, easily sliding back into her while her legs wrap around his arse. He begins to control the movements, the pleasure in the base of his spine nearly ready to burst with every thrust.

 

“Shit,” she whispers against his lips when he begins to swivel his hips, brushing her clit with the movements. “I’ve gotta – you’ve gotta…”

 

“Aye,” he responds, sliding his lips over hers and snaking his hand down between them, curling his fingers where they’re joined and spreading her arousal while he rubs circles around her bundle of nerves, making her gasp and bite down on his upper lip. “You are bloody brilliant,” he grunts when he knows that she’s getting close, every movement of his hips and his thumb driving her just as mad as him. “I have missed you, missed this, missed the way you feel wrapped around me, so tight and wet.”

 

Her eyes shut then, tightly, and he can see the sweat beading at her forehead, can feel the sweat on his, and she falls apart on a stuttered breath that nearly steals his. He tries to work her through it, pushing into her and finding his own pleasure while her hands continue to curl into his shoulders, holding on tightly even as her eyes open and a smile graces her lips.

 

“Hi,” she sighs, but he can’t respond to it, burying his face in her neck and whispering her name over and over again while he falls apart, nearly collapsing on top of her as his legs shake.

 

“Oh my god,” he groans, his body coming back to itself for enough time to brush his lips over hers, once, twice, three times, before pulling out of her and standing on shaky legs to get ready to dispose of the condom.

 

“Emma will do.”

 

He turns to look at her, his lips gaping open all while he carefully ties off the condom. “That was by far the worst joke you’ve ever made.”

 

“You don’t even know, bud.”

 

Later after they’ve cleaned themselves up, Killian slipping back into his jeans instead of bothering to get his suitcase from the other room and Emma pulling her oversized t-shirt back on, Emma tucks herself into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his stomach while he pulls her closer, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her left wrist. He’s content to sit like this for hours, until his limbs fall asleep and he has to suffer through that awful, painful buzzing that occurs when the blood flow has been stilted. After so little time together and so long apart, he wondered if they’d fall back into this sense of comfort or if things between them would be stilted, unsure. He’s never done this before, never been with someone who doesn’t live in the same city as him, so this is all new, uncharted territory.

 

He thinks they’re doing pretty well.

 

Emma’s fingers start tracing patterns in the skin on his chest, her nails parting the matted, sweaty hair and causing him to shiver at her touch. “Did you have a good flight?”

 

“W-what?”

 

“Did you have a good flight? I didn’t ask, and I feel like that’s something I should have asked about.”

 

“What’d you do? Make a list of small talk conversations for us to have. The weather outside is delightful, love. I think it’s a balmy sixty five, which is good for my hair. The humidity and all.”

 

“Shut up,” she giggles, the sound sweet even as she slaps his chest. “You know what I mean. I always have weird stuff happen to me on flights. I figured you might too.”

 

“Aye,” he answers, lifting her wrist and kissing her skin, “all of the time, but this time I simply boarded the plane, put my headphones in, and caught up on a lot of the shows I’ve missed while filming. Oh, and I ate any entire bag of salt and vinegar chips without my tongue breaking out. That was pretty exciting.”

 

“Wow, you are living the life, KJ.”

 

He scrunches up his nose as he dips his head and captures Emma’s lips with his before she can say anything else, smiling into the kiss when she gasps at the contact. He feels something inside of him twist, which is definitely not biologically possible but happening all the same.

 

“Hush, love. You’re just lucky I brushed my teeth again before I got here.”

 

“Wow, and you made fun of me for expecting to get lucky.”

 

“Well, maybe I just brushed my teeth because I really care about dental hygiene. It had absolutely nothing to do with you or making sure that I don’t absolutely repulse you.”

 

“Too late for that.”

 

She squirms away from him them, surprisingly quick on her feet as she moves to the other side of the bed, stretching out and reaching toward the end table when he grabs her waist and holds her back, leaning down and kissing up her thighs while she laughs, kicking her feet at him.

 

“Killian, st-stop,” she groans, reaching back while he continues to rub his chin into the back of her thigh, scruff leaving faint red marks, “I’m trying to get my phone. It keeps buzzing.”

 

“That’s my phone.”

  
  
“Well, then, I’m trying to get your phone.” He lets her go, Emma scooting forward enough to grab his phone off the table. “You have a hell of a lot of missed texts from Elsa. Also, is this your girlfriend in your photo? She’s super hot.”

  
  
“She’s my _lover_  actually,” he laughs, holding his hand out for his phone, “and I agree. Smoking hot. What’s Elsa saying?”

 

“Um, I don’t know. I don’t know your passcode.”

 

“050886.”

 

She quirks an eyebrow, folding her legs up underneath her and pulling her t-shirt down over her thighs. “KJ, is your phone password your own birthday?”

 

“Possibly.”

 

“That’s so predictable.”

 

“It’s easy to remember.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Emma types the numbers into the phone, swiping her finger and presumably going through Elsa’s texts, her facial expression neutral the entire time. “Oh man, are you in deep water with your sister-in-law.”

 

“What? Let me see.”

 

“No, no. You, my friend,” Emma laughs, untucking her feet from underneath her and standing on the bed, somehow not at all concerned how close she is to the running ceiling fan, “have forgotten to tell your family that you safely traveled across the country, and they are having a meltdown.”

 

Oh shit. He really did forget to text someone, anyone, and let them know he landed, and that does not fly with Elsa or Liam. Hell, even Will freaks out on him sometimes.

 

“Shit, let me text her.”

 

“What are you going to say? You forgot because you were having sex?”

 

“Exactly,” he smirks, shaking his head a bit and leaning forward to grab Emma’s ankle, running his fingers over the bones there while she continues to sway back and forth above him. “Elsa’s an adult. She understands.”

 

“Elsa is very much an adult who has sex with your brother.”

 

“Swan,” he groans, throwing his free arm over his eyes and trying to get that image out of his head, “why would you point that out?”

 

“Just to mess with you.” Emma squats down and quickly glides her lips over his before handing over his phone. “Why don’t you call her back? I’m going to go get some water. You want some?”

 

“Sure, darling.” Emma gets off the bed, gently hopping down onto the floor without so much as a stumble, and walks out of the room, her curly, tangled hair bouncing with every step.

 

He takes the moment to scroll through his phone, a few texts from Will and Robin having gone unread, but he mostly sees all of the texts from Elsa, each of them increasingly more worried about his whereabouts. The last one even uses Aiden to guilt him, a picture of the poor lad crying all while the caption reads _I’m having a meltdown because my uncle won’t text my mom back._ He shakes his head in disbelief over he sneaky tactics, just a little dramatic there, El. He presses her name, letting the dial ring until her voice sounds on the other end.

 

“Well, it looks like you’re alive,” Elsa groans into the phone, her displeasure with him even clearer than it was in the texts.

 

“Hi, El. Nice to talk to you too. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit dramatic?”

 

“Only Anna. And that’s just when I used to get mad at her for stealing my clothes. But seriously. You can’t just not tell any of us you’ve landed.”

 

He reaches up and runs his hand through his hair, knowing that it’s likely a disaster from the flight and the exertion with Emma. “I’m sorry. It slipped my mind, but I promise I wasn’t going to let you think I was dead. I’d have sent proof of life at some point.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m sure you would have eventually remembered us as you traipse off to go visit your girlfriend.”

 

Almost as if she knew Elsa had referenced her, Emma walks back in her bedroom then, holding a glass of water while she sips on the other one, placing his on the table next to him before crawling back into bed beside him.

 

“I would have, El. I would never forget the little people.”

 

  
“God, you’re corny,” Emma groans, shaking her head back and forth before taking another sip.

 

“Oooh, is that her, Killian? Is that Emma?”

 

He can practically imagine Elsa sitting at home bouncing up and down on the couch while Liam stoically sits on the other end reading one of his many war strategy books, the oddball.  

 

“Aye.”

 

“Can I talk to her?”

 

Emma’s cheeks go red, obviously hearing Elsa’s words. “Do you want to?” he mouths to Emma, trying to read her emotions.

 

“Sure, put her on speaker.”

 

So he does, hitting the button and hoping that this is not some kind of disaster. If he were one to wish on stars, he’d wish that these next two weeks go without any hiccups. “Um, Els, this is Emma. Emma, Elsa. I’ve got no bloody clue why you want to talk to her, but here you go.”

 

“I just wanted to ask her to make sure you stay safe, you know? And that you come back home. Anna is coming into town for your birthday, and let me tell you, she has been plotting out cakes for you like you haven’t eaten a carb in years. Are you coming, Emma?”

 

Okay, so there’s hiccup number one. Emma’s eyes go wide, her lips parting, and he watches as she works through her words, noticing the way she nearly bites her bottom lip twice before speaking.

 

“Oh, um, I can’t. It’s in the middle of the week, and I have work. Maybe the weekend after though. I’m sure you guys will have a great time bringing Killian into old age.”

 

“Oi, I’m turning thirty-three, love.” He reaches over and pinches her side, even as she swats him away. “I’m not old.”

 

“You are pretty old, Killian.”

 

“You’re older than me, El.”

 

“Semantics. I don’t think that really matters here. You definitely have more wrinkles than me,” Elsa laughs, her voice carefree. She obviously wasn’t too worried about him not making it to Boston if she’s in this good of a mood after just a few minutes. “Emma, it’s so nice to meet you, or hear your voice really. Maybe one day you’ll come back to California, and I can meet you in person. I promise you I’ll be much nicer than my husband was. Sorry about that by the way.”

 

“Well, he doesn’t exactly leave room for competition, but that sounds wonderful, Elsa. I’ll have to figure something out.”

 

“Sounds perfect. Be good and be safe, Killian. Don’t be a stranger. Love you.”

 

“I love you, too. Give Aiden a hug for me. Maybe toss one in there for Liam.”

 

The moment he hangs up the phone, he shuts it down and places it on the bedside table, picking up the glass of water and taking a sip, not realizing how dehydrated he is until he downs the entire thing in one continuous gulp, his throat soothed the more cool water trickles down. When he looks over at Emma, she’s picking at imaginary lint of her shirt, her hair falling down and covering her face while her long, tan legs stretch out over the sheets. He reaches over and tucks her hair behind her ear, thumbing at her chin so she looks at him.

 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Swan, we are so far past lying to each other. Tell me. I won’t judge even if it’s something like wanting to hang clown paintings up on your ceiling.”

 

He entire face scrunches up, the very obvious disgust at the idea evident on every inch of her skin. “While I appreciate your vague The Good Place reference, both Elanor and I, and any sane person, do not want clowns everywhere…anywhere.”

 

“What then?”

 

“I feel bad.”

 

He scoots his foot over toward hers, knocking them together and wiggling his toes. “About?”

 

“I’m going to miss your birthday. Your family is apparently having a party, your friends are going to be there, and what? I’m going to be sitting in my office eight thousand miles away? Is that how this is going to be? We just miss all of these big moments?”

 

“Emma,” he sighs, leaning over and thumbing at her chin again so she looks at him, her eyelashes fluttering down before she _actually_  looks at him, “it’s fine. I’ve had quite a few birthdays, and this one isn’t anything special. Don’t get yourself worked up over it or freaked out.”

 

“But – ”

 

“But what? It’s just a day, and I’m leaving here, like, three days beforehand. There’s absolutely no need for you to waste a vacation day when you’ll spend all of it on a flight, maybe get to eat a piece of cake, and then get back on a plane again.”

 

“I hear the cake selection will be good though, might make it worth it.”

 

“Swan.”

 

She groans, throwing her entire body back against the bed. “I kind of hate that you’re being logical about this.”

 

“Well, someone in this relationship has to be the smart one.” He leans over and kisses the corner of her lips. “Now let’s go get something to eat. Is there going to be anything in the kitchen or do I have to put a shirt on for us to go out?”

 

“Who says you have to wear a shirt to go out?”

 

When he wanders into Emma’s kitchen, opening up the cabinets in search of food, he’s genuinely surprised to see it completely stocked and organized. This is not the Emma he knows, and his earlier thought of her cleaning before he arrived rings true. She did not have to do that, but he appreciates the effort, grabbing the bag of bread and figuring a sandwich will be fine. Emma jokingly protests, claiming she got better food at his house, before getting up and fixing her own food, the two of them eating standing in the kitchen, not even bothering to go sit down.

 

He eventually gets his suitcase from where Emma dropped it, rolling it into her room and opening it up so he can find some of his sweatpants, his jeans beginning to rub into his waist after wearing them all day. But before he even gets the chance to change, Emma grabs onto his belt loops, pulling him toward her and back to the bed, every intent that she has evident in her eyes. It’s much faster than the first time, the desperation they both felt at their separation finally coming to head (and to bed if he’s honest with himself) as they move together in quick, harsh movements, the only sounds in the room their harsh pants and their skin slapping together. Faintly, he thinks he can hear the busyness outside, cars speeding by, horns blaring, and a curse or two from Emma’s neighbors. But he doesn’t care about anything out there.

 

Not at all.

 

He must have fallen asleep without knowing it because when he wakes, it’s to the sound of the shower running. Emma’s side of the bed is cold, the sheets cool to the touch when he reaches out for her in an attempt to recreate the way she’d curled around him before he fell asleep. He groans as he twists to the side, his body a bit sore from last night, and fumbles for his phone, unplugging it from the wall. Emma must have done that as he definitely didn’t, and he smiles a bit until his phone displays the time of 3:14 in the morning.

 

“Bloody hell,” he grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, looking over and checking Emma’s phone as well, hers showing 6:14. “Fucking time change.” He shouldn’t have any issue with it, his sleep already screwed from filming, but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Literally. Not at all figuratively.

 

He makes a futile attempt to fall back asleep, but then he hears the water in the shower turn off, Emma coming out into her bedroom five minutes later wrapped up in a towel, her hair completely dry and pulled up into a bun.

 

“Hey, did I wake you?”

 

“No, just woke up. I think my sleep schedule is going to be screwed up for awhile, until I get used to normal living, at least.”

 

“Okay, well,” she walks over to her dresser, shuffling through the drawers and pulling on her underwear before dropping the towel, her body almost completely exposed to his gaze while her hips move as she dresses, his mind replaying images of just a few hours ago, “I have to be at work at eight thirty. I was thinking of going in early to try to get off earlier, but if you want to get up and take a shower, we can go out and get breakfast.”

 

Groaning, he rubs his eyes before throwing the covers off, already trying to think himself down as if that would work. “Yeah, I think I’m going to need a cold shower after that little show you just put on, so that sounds like a brilliant plan.”

 

“You,” she looks back at him over her bare shoulder, her neck infuriatingly long, and winks, “are disgustingly insatiable, but I’ve already showered so that’s not happening.”

 

“That’s the point of the shower, darling.”

 

“No, that’s because you smell like sweat.”

 

He pinches Emma’s thigh on his way over to his suitcase, shuffling through for some clothes before he heads into the bathroom and takes a quick, cold shower. He didn’t remember to bring his own body wash in here, so he uses Emma’s, not at all minding that he’s going to smell like vanilla for the rest of the day. Before he knows it, Emma’s ready for work, he’s dressed, and she’s leading him out of her building, wandering down the cramped alleyways outside. He’s not familiar with Boston’s layout, but Emma obviously is, navigating the small roads and alternating busy streets with ease.

 

She leads them to a small coffee shop, the lights dim inside and the patrons quiet, and he appreciates it as he tugs his baseball cap further down on her forehead and keeps his sunglasses on until the last minute.

 

“I’m going to order while you get a table. There’s a really cool table upstairs that’s inside of an old bank safe. No one ever sits in it because the wifi is bad.”

  
  
“That sounds dangerous.”

 

“The door doesn’t close, KJ,” she laughs, reaching back and squeezing his hand. “You want anything specific besides your coffee?”

 

“The blueberry muffin that’s sitting at the top of the display case.”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

He heads up the stairs, steps creaking and groaning under his weight, and finds the room Emma was talking about. Sure enough, it’s a small, empty section that looks to be within an old bank safe. It’s actually pretty inventive, though he does wonder why this place has a safe on the second floor and how exactly someone decided to change an abandoned bank into a coffee house. Emma joins him five minutes later, two to-go cups and a paper bag in her hand. She practically downs her entire drink in one sitting, the heat somehow not burning her, before shoveling her croissant in her mouth. The entire time he’s waiting for his coffee to cool, staring her down and slowly picking at his muffin.

 

“What?” she laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

 

“You are inhaling your food. How have you not burned your mouth?”

 

“My creamer and stuff cooled it down, and old habits die hard. I’m usually eating breakfast while getting ready or while driving. And we walked here, which means I’m going to walk to work, so we really only have, like, twenty minutes.”

 

“It’s been three.”

 

“Oh,” she laughs, shaking her head while his coffee cools and his affection for Emma warms. Indefinitely, he thinks. “Sorry.”

 

“Tis nothing, love. I was just watching a modern medical marvel take place.”

 

She sticks out her tongue, showing the maturity of the twenty-eight-year-old that she is, and he barks out a laugh, throwing his head back and being thankful that he wasn’t drinking his coffee. He eventually does eat, sipping on his coffee even after they leave to walk toward Emma’s office, and despite the fact that it’s still before five in the morning for him, he’s glad to be awake.

 

He realizes that he’s never actually been to Emma’s actual office, only having gone to the museum for the gala, so as he follows her up several sets of stairs, the lighting dim within the corridors, he takes in the surroundings, trying to put together all of the things he’s imagined while talking to her on the phone. The actual office is a bit brighter than he imagined, large murals obviously painted by children coating the walls, and when Emma turns the corner into a small room, he knows it’s her office simply by the fact that she has a shelf of coffee mugs to the side of the room.

 

“For someone who made a big fuss about the damn swan mug, you seem to have quite the collection of other options.”

 

“Oh,” she gasps, almost as if she had forgotten he was behind her or that the mugs were there, “I don’t actually drink out of those. We have a Valentine’s Day party with a lot of the kids every year. Some of them hate it, which is understandable, but for the younger ones, they draw something and we get the picture put on a mug later on. I’ve just kind of collected them.” She shrugs, putting her purse down behind her desk. “They make me happy.”

 

That thing within him that twisted yesterday, the one he is sure is biologically impossible, twists again, his face heating as his lips stretch into a wide grin. Emma is incredible, in more ways than one, and he shakes his head back in forth in disbelief that she wants to be with him of all people.

 

“You make me happy.”

 

“Wow, cheesy.”

 

He shakes his head again, walking over to Emma and placing his cup on her desk before resting his hands on her hips, thumbs running circles on the skin under her shirt. She’s looking up at him with a bit of disbelief, and he understands. That’s how he looks at her sometimes.

 

“I’m serious, Emma. You do make me happy.”

 

Emma’s hands reach up to caress the apple of his cheek, tilting his hat up the slightest bit before speaking on a slightly shaken breath, “You make me happy too, Killian. I’m glad you’re here.”

 

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that? They're in the same place!


	11. Chapter Eleven

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

 

“Oh my God,” Emma groans, swiveling in her desk chair and burying her face in her hands, hoping that if she doesn’t move away from the desk that maybe Ruby will get up and walk away. When she doesn’t hear any movement, she peeks up, opening an eye to see Ruby still sitting in the chair in the corner with an absolute smirk on her face. “Are you five years old?”

 

“No, but I just saw your boyfriend slobber all over you in your office like you two are horny teenagers, so I really think I’m the mature one in this situation.”

 

“First of all,” she begins, sitting back in her chair and tugging at the loose strands falling out of her bun, “it was not slobber. He is not a dog. That would be disgusting. Secondly, why the hell were you in my office? I feel like you’re never down in the therapy center.”

 

Ruby shrugs before she blows on her nails, the picture of nonchalance as always. “I don’t have a session for thirty minutes, and I wanted to see your sex glow.”

 

“You get creepier by the minute. Mary Margaret is obviously the better best friend.”

 

“Hey, rude,” Ruby scoffs, throwing the pillow she’s holding over at her only for Emma to catch it. “We are both equally good best friends. I am the fun one who convinces us to do things like skydiving or barhopping, Mary Margaret is the mom friend who doesn’t let us go home with creepy guys, and you, my little Swan, are our brutally honest companion who, despite your sometimes prickly exterior, is a wonderful mix of both me and Marg. And come on, how can you get better than being like me?”

 

“How did you manage to turn that from a quasi compliment about me and Marg to it being about you?”

 

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” She turns to her computer, logging into her account and waiting for everything to boot up so she can answer the emails that she’s sure have come in since last night. “Why the hell do I have emails from people past midnight? Who is working at midnight and thinks, ‘huh, I want to come visit a children’s center?’”

 

“People who don’t sleep,” Ruby answers, getting up from the chair and perching herself on the side of her desk, the hem of her dress falling over her knees. “Speaking of that, I want to talk about how you didn’t sleep last night and still have this whole glow about you. You look refreshed, except for this whole hair situation thing you’ve got going on.”

 

“It dried all on its own and when I brushed it out this morning, it was like a frizzy bush. So the messy bun it is.”

 

“It looks like sex hair.”

 

“It _is_  sex hair.”

 

“Ha,” Ruby laughs, slapping Emma’s shoulder, “I knew it.”

 

“Well, obviously, Rubes. My boyfriend just came into town after me not seeing him in weeks. What were we going to do? Have him sleep out on the couch after a quaint dinner full of small talk? Maybe a little handholding?”

 

“I bet you did all of that too.”

  
  
She rolls her eyes, trying to keep her lips in a straight line. “Maybe.”

  
  
“You know, I only ask because I’m the entire reason that you’re getting some. The world should thank me.”

 

“How the hell is that?”

 

“You met him because of me.”

  
  
“I got drunk and lost a stupid bet. You just happened to be…less drunk than me.”

 

“And then I picked your suitor for the night, who is now your suitor for…awhile? I’m not sure if we’re talking, like, the Nolans type of relationship or the Bachelor type of relationship.”

 

Her face immediately heats and she squirms in her chair, adjusting herself and suddenly finding a junk email about a sale on cars the most interesting thing in the world. She does not want to answer Ruby’s question, or statement really. She knows her answer, but saying it out loud seems like it’s too much too soon. She feels…a lot for Killian, her feelings teetering so close to love that she could easily be knocked over and fall head first in if she’s given the right push, but she doesn’t want to admit it too soon. She’s not sure where Killian is in that whole regard, but it’s not something she’s actively thinking about. They’re working how they are, and there’s no need for her to think otherwise.

 

It’s like what Killian told her this morning, just before Ruby apparently saw him “slobbering” on her, he makes her happy. It was cheesy and made her cringe a bit, but then she saw the emotion in his eyes, heard it in his voice, and she realized how sweet it was, how sweet he is. Killian’s had some screwed up things happen to him in the past, things that make her blood curdle that anyone could try to take advantage of a man who’d do anything for anyone, and he still has the ability to be that kind, if not a bit self-loathing when he doesn’t need to be.

 

Not that she has any right to call someone out for being self-loathing.

 

She pretty much has that one in the bag.

 

“So what’s lover boy doing while you’re working?” Ruby asks, obviously sensing that Emma did not want to talk about how long she thinks her relationship is going to last.

 

It’s forev…nope. She’s not going to even think it. That’d be crazy.

 

“I’m not sure. I gave him some suggestions on places to go, so he might go explore the city a bit on his own. But honestly with how tired he was, I’m thinking he’s going to go back to my place and crash before doing a bit of work.”

 

“Sounds like a hell of a vacation.”

 

“I have Netflix and food. What more could he ask for?”

 

Ruby eventually has to go do actual work, as does Emma, her day passing by at a snail’s pace with little more to do than twiddling her thumbs and cleaning out her desk drawers. Some days are like this, slow and steady, something to do coming in every few hours, while others are nonstop, making her feel like she can never get a moment to breathe. If it were a perfect world, those days would blend together to make a day where she’s never overwhelmed or underwhelmed. To quote Gabrielle Union in 10 Things I Hate About You, she would just be whelmed.

 

(That movie came on twice in a row the other night, and she was too lazy to get up and find the remote to change the channel.)

 

But the world isn’t perfect so the rest of day goes by achingly slow with nothing to do, and like it’s some kind of karmic payback for her complaining about her day on Tuesday, Wednesday is a nonstop day that has her so frazzled she forgets to eat lunch and doesn’t realize it’s far past six thirty in the evening, nearly an hour and a half after she should have gone home, until there’s a knock at her office door and Killian’s standing there in a suit with two cups of coffee in his hands.

 

Oh shit. They were supposed to go out tonight. That’s what they’d decided on when she got home from work yesterday. He’d spent the day catching up on emails and reviewing new scripts even though he apparently promised himself he wouldn’t look at anything new for at least a month. So since he didn’t explore Boston last night, especially with the way they stayed in bed continuing to make up for lost time, they were supposed to tonight.

 

But she screwed it up.

 

She groans, throwing her head down against the desk and hiding her face in her arms, hoping that she can somehow go back in time and meet Killian back at her apartment when she was supposed to.

 

“I am so, so, so, _soooo_  unbelievably sorry. Ah, fuck, I’m really late, aren’t I?”

 

“Well, you were supposed to be home two hours ago, so yeah, I’d say the fact that you’re still in your office means you’re pretty late.”

 

He doesn’t look angry or disappointed, the smallest of smiles gracing his face, and she wonders how the man who is on time for literally everything could somehow not be irritated with her.

 

She’s irritated with herself.

 

“How pissed are you at me?”

 

He hums, taking a step away from the door and making his way over to sit on the edge of her desk, his thighs spreading out and gray pants tightening with the movement. That’s not distracting at all. Nope. She doesn’t find the muscles in his thighs in any way attractive. She’s also a liar. “Well, I wouldn’t say pissed is the right word. I’d say more concerned.”

 

“Why?” 

 

He hands her the coffee then, and she notices the cups are from Iron Bank. He must have gone back there instead of going to Starbucks or something. “Because it’s seven, Swan. And I know you like your job, but I don’t think you like it enough to stay here because you want to. Not when you have a devilishly handsome date waiting for you, especially when he got all dressed up for the occasion.”

 

Killian’s waggling his eyebrows and smiling down at her, his hair coiffed up in a way that makes her know he put some effort into it, which only makes her feel worse. Obviously Killian doesn’t take as long as she does to get ready for a date, but still. He was at her apartment getting ready and waiting for her all while she was trying to understand why her Excel programming decided to glitch and malfunction and make none of the numbers align.

 

She feels like an awful human being.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whines again, saving the program and exiting out, figuring that she’ll fix it in the morning. She’s got to fix this now. “What time is our reservation?”

 

“At eight.”

 

“Okay,” she sighs, getting up from her seat and straightening out her pants, “if we break, like, every traffic law or maybe just make a run for it, we can get me home to change and then get there in time. Of course, if we just went to, like, one of my usual places we wouldn’t even need a reservation. So maybe if we don’t make it to Sorellina’s then we can do that. Or we can go and be late and hope they don’t give up our table, or I’ll just wear what I have on. This is fine, right?”

 

Killian chuckles, not even moving from his perch on her desk while she’s gathering up all her belongings, running through the scenarios again. Before she gets the chance to walk out the door, Killian grabs her wrist, pulling her closer so that she stands in between his splayed knees. Before she can even say anything, he’s pulling her wrist up to his lips and kissing right under her palm. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch, the contrast of the softness of his lips and harshness of his whiskers causing her skin to tingle the slightest bit. She didn’t realize how quickly her heart was beating, how heated her face was, but she can feel it all now as she cools off.

 

“Swan, calm down.”

 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just…I’m sorry.”

 

“Love, do not apologize again.”

 

“I’m – never mind.”

 

He smiles, running his thumb back and forth over her wrist. “You lost track of time at work, something you do all of the time. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just a dinner reservation. I don’t care if we miss it. But luckily for you, I called and traded it out with someone else for a nine o’clock one.”

 

“You could have told me that before I felt like the worst person in the world, KJ.”

 

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have seen you sweat.”

 

“You’re not a kind man.”

 

“Never claimed to be.”

 

Traffic takes forever, the roads on the way back to her apartment seemingly staying at a standstill for over forty five minutes, but they do eventually get back to her apartment. Luckily, she washed her hair this morning, even curled it a bit, so all she really has to do is slip out of her blouse and pants and slip into a black dress she’s had for years. It’s a little tight, looks more like something she’d wear out to a bar, so she throws on her red leather jacket and favorite ankle boots to look a bit nicer. She knows that she has time to redo her hair and makeup, but all she does is flick on another line of eyeliner and reapply her lipstick before heading back out into the living room where Killian is typing away on his phone.

 

“Okay, I’m ready to go, though I think we might actually be early now.”

 

He looks up at her then, his phone dropped into his lap while his lips part and his eyes trace up and down her body. A shiver runs down her spine, something that happens a lot when he’s around, and she reminds herself that they absolutely have to go out tonight. She’s not messing this dinner up again.

 

“You look – ”

 

“I know.”

 

“And you say I’m cocky, love,” Killian laughs, looking back down at his phone and typing a few things in. “I’ve got an Uber coming to pick us up in five minutes.”

 

“I can drive.”

 

“Aye, I know, but this way we don’t have to worry about parking or if we have anything to drink.”

 

“I like the way you think.”

 

It’s a relatively cool night as they wait outside for their Uber, so she’s glad that she grabbed her jacket, but they’re not outside long before loading up into Devin’s car as he takes them across town to Sorellina’s. She’s been in more Ubers than she should for someone who likes to drive herself places, but Devin is definitely the quietest driver she’s ever had. He doesn’t say much, just asking how their evening is going while they chat in the back, but she does notice him continuously looking back at them through his review mirror.

 

She has no idea why until they’re pulling up outside of the restaurant, and he asks, “Hey, are you?”

 

“Yeah,” Killian answers, quickly sliding out of the backseat and holding his hand out for her so that she can easily get out of the car. Maybe he is the gentleman he claims to be. Okay, so he definitely is. “Have a good night, mate.”

 

Before they go inside, she grabs onto his jacket sleeve, tugging at him to look at her. “Hey, is it okay that we’re out? I didn’t think about people recognizing you.”

 

“It’s fine, love.” He leans down and kisses her, making her forget her worries for the moment. “As long as you’re okay with the possibility of people seeing us together, I’m fine with it.”

 

“I’m fine with it too.”

 

“Good.”

 

Despite being fine with it, she does notice how Killian’s reservation is for a booth in the back, the lighting not as nice as it is everywhere else in the restaurant. But whatever works for him works for her, and she really doesn’t have any complaints about tonight. It might be a nicer place than she usually frequents, but that’s not going to keep her from having a nice time.

 

She gets a lasagna, though it’s definitely got a fancier name than that on the menu, while Killian gets gnocchi, which she definitely would have pronounced wrong if she had ordered it. Maybe she needs to expand her palate a little bit. But it’s fine for tonight. The food is good, the wine great, and even though she’s never been one for fancy restaurants, she finds it doesn’t matter when you actually like the person who’s sitting across from you.

 

Maybe that’s been the problem.

 

Or maybe the prices.

 

Probably both.

 

Definitely both.

 

“ – no, no, I’m serious. I won the spelling bee when I was in primary school. I was quite the little academic. Top five in my class, too.”

 

Killian’s been telling her all about his academic prowess and all of the clubs he was in when he was younger. He played a green bean in a play about how eating your vegetables is important, and she thinks that’s where he got his penchant for healthy eating. And maybe why he’s such a good actor.

 

“Who knew you were such a little genius, KJ?”

 

“I did. My entire life.”  


She rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her wine to hide her smile. “So why’d you never go to college…or university? That’s what you call it, right? I know you moved here when you were eighteen to get away from… _everything_ , but I bet you could have gotten a scholarship. That’s what I did. And a hell of a lot of student loans.”

 

Killian takes a sip of his rum before reaching up to scratch behind his ear, his lips ticking up on the right while his eyes squint. “Eh, it was the money, the fact that I didn’t know what to do. Liam had busted his arse to pay for me to live after he managed to get me into his custody, and I didn’t want to burden us anymore. I was good at manual labor, so if I hadn’t found the set building job, I think we would have both worked in construction. I like being able to work with my hands.”

 

Oh. She didn’t think of that. She should have. She went through doing it all on her own, worrying about finances and how to live, and she should have known that Killian did that too. She knows enough about his childhood to know how rough he and Liam had it for a few years. But sometimes the words just slip without her thinking.

 

“I’m sorry that I asked, if that brought up bad memories of something you didn’t get to do.”

 

“Hey,” Killian soothes, reaching across the table and twining their fingers together, his palm warm in hers, “it’s fine, love. It’s not a sad story or something I’m ashamed of. It’s my past, and I kind of like my job situation now. I don’t think I would have gotten it if I’d studied somewhere.”

 

“What…what do you think you would have studied? Hypothetically speaking.”

 

“Then? English. Would have been dirt poor for my entire life, but I would have liked to have been a teacher. Now? Definitely acting. I’m pretty self taught, but the academic in me likes to always know more, to be learning.” He squeezes her hand before releasing it and moving it back to his side of the table. Sometimes she sees little flickers of darkness behind the brightness of his eyes, but he either hides it well or truly doesn’t let his past affect him too much. “But I don’t regret anything, Swan. I spent too long being bitter, and I’m not going to complain about how Liam and I made it here. Though, I would take having my mum back.”

 

“She’d be proud of you.”

 

“I’d like to hope so.” He smiles softly, almost sadly, and it breaks her heart like it does every time she thinks of Killian losing his mom, someone he very obviously loved with his entire being. “She’d love you. You remind me of her, actually, and not in some kind of weird, psychologists would study it, way.”

 

“Well that’s good to know,” she laughs, messing with the leftover food on her plate so that she has time to process all of this. She kind of wishes she could have met his mom, too. Mostly she wishes that she was here for Killian. And Liam.

 

She may have never known her parents, may not know anything about them, but Killian knew his mom. He grew up with her and had to watch her die when he was ten. She can’t…she can’t imagine. But at the end of the day, she and Killian have both been left, abandoned by people who were supposed to love them and be there for them, so they understand each other. And she’s known that from the night they met when he shared with her that he’d been in foster care for awhile, something people don’t know.

 

He trusted her from the beginning, and that’s not an honor she takes lightly.

 

Oh God, she’s kind of thinking like him now.

 

“I just mean that you two are both bloody brilliant with huge hearts and a quick wit. And, you know, the ability to knock me back down to earth when my head gets a little too big.”

 

“So all of the time?”

 

“Aye, so all of the time.”

 

“All of the time, KJ.”

 

After they get the bill, she and Killian walk outside and wait for their Uber, not really wanting to walk around the area. She can feel the wine buzzing through her the slightest bit, not anywhere near enough to be drunk, but definitely enough to be a little wine happy. Killian wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her a little bit closer so that she can rest her cheek against his shoulder.

 

“You know, darling, I don’t think I tell you this enough, but I think you are phenomenal.”

 

“Hmm, I feel like you should just tell me that every day. You may not need to have an inflated ego, but I certainly can."

 

“I’m serious, Swan. You’re a badass. The life you’ve made for yourself, all by yourself, it takes a strong woman to do that, and you deserve all of the credit in the world. And in case no one has ever told you, I’m proud of you.”

 

Oh shit.

 

She wasn’t expecting that. Not at all. Not in the slightest. And she’s not going to cry. This was supposed to be dinner, a night out that’s fun, not something that’s going to make her cry. But she doesn’t think anyone has ever told her that. Maybe Mary Margaret and David, but she’s not sure right now.

 

She’s barely able to even tell herself that sometimes, even if she is damn proud of herself.

 

And then another thought comes to her, the very one that was teetering on the tip of her tongue that she was trying to push down, and it nearly takes her breath away. She thinks she loves him. No, she does love him. She…expected it in a way, but really, in no way could she have ever expected this, expected him.

 

In no way could she have ever expected herself to even want to love again, not after everything, but she’s here and weirdly, she’s not scared of it.

 

Okay, so maybe she’s a little terrified, but the voice that’s telling her to run away is oddly quiet. Maybe it’s replaced by the sound of Killian telling her he’s proud of her.

 

She turns in Killian’s embrace and wraps her arms around his neck before capturing his bottom lip with her mouth, feeling the softness and warmth that always accompanies him. He gasps a little when her lips move, almost like he wasn’t expecting it, and she smiles into the kiss, not able to help herself from her teeth clanking against his before she moves back in with fervor, trying to let him know how she feels even if she can’t say the words yet, if she wants to hoard them and keep them to herself for now.

 

For tonight at least.

 

“Hey, are you, um, Liam Jones, who ordered the tan Toyota Camry with Madeline driving?”

 

She pulls back a bit when a girl yells at them from the restaurant’s driveway, her face red enough that Emma knows she’s been watching them for awhile. Oops.

 

She’s not at all sorry.

 

“That’s us,” Killian laughs, quickly kissing her once more before pulling back from her.

 

“Liam Jones? That’s definitely not your name.”

 

“Aye, I know, but this way if I ever get a bad review, it’s under Liam’s name.”

 

“But it’ll still be under your account. I don’t think that’s – ”

 

He dips his head and kisses her again, making her almost lose her balance on the sidewalk. “Aye, I know that’s not how it works, Swan. Let’s just get in the car and hope Liam doesn’t get a bad review from me not being able to resist you until we get back to the apartment.”

 

“I think the bad review might be worth it.”

 

* * *

 

“So who are we playing tonight?”

 

“The Orioles. If you’d come, like, a week and a half later we could have watched the Astros, but _nooo_ , apparently you have schedules and things like that.”

 

“I mean,” Killian begins, wrapping his arm around her shoulder while they walk down Van Ness, the sidewalk crowded with people heading toward Fenway, even if tonight isn’t a big game, “I do occasionally have to work. Meetings and such. And family obligations.”

 

“Excuses, excuses.” She reaches over to pat his back, rubbing up and down in circles. “Have you ever been to a baseball game?”

 

“Aye, I’ve been to several Dodgers’ games.”

 

“Okay, better question. Have you ever been to a baseball game and not sat, like, behind home plate?”

 

“Are you asking if I’ve ever sat up in the cheap seats?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Well, believe it or not, I was once a poor young lad.”

 

“From a poor family.”

 

“I don’t think Bohemian Rhapsody is really the song to quote here.”

 

“Okay, go on, go on.”

 

“So Liam and I, when we first moved to California, would go and buy the nosebleeds for the Dodgers, and go a couple times a summer. Yeah, we could have just watched on TV, but there’s only so much time you can sit in a small apartment with your older brother who was very hot and heavy with his girlfriend.”  


“Elsa?”

 

“Oh no, this was long before Elsa. Liam was quite the ladies’ man when we first moved here.”

 

“Really now?”

 

“Oh yes, think about it. A British transplant fresh out of the Navy with those stunning Jones looks.”

 

“You’re either conceited or confident. I can’t decide.”

 

“Maybe a bit of both.”

 

They get to their gate, Emma pulling up the tickets on her phone and scanning them before going through. She thinks Killian gets a few weird looks, but he’s got on his aviators and a hat, which is obviously not a complex disguise or anything, but he says that it works, which is a really weird thing for her to think about. She sometimes (all of the time) forgets what he does for a living, or really, the consequences of what he does, even if that is how they met. But then they’ll be out and he’ll tug his hat down on his forehead or, like the other night, make sure their table is in the back corner of the restaurant.

 

After going through security, they wander around in the concrete halls, passing by all of the food and souvenir stands until they find the staircase to lead them to their seats. Only a few people are in their area, the stadium mostly empty, but she didn’t really expect anything else. She’s been to enough of these games to know that some games just are pretty empty. But it is Friday night, so as the first few innings go by, the score staying steady at one run a piece, people begin to filter in, the red seats slowly being filled with people as the sun sets over the stadium, coating the Boston skyline with pink clouds and a red sky that would almost look creepy if not for the way that there’s still light blue mixed into sky.

 

She looks to her left where Killian is holding up his phone, very obviously taking pictures of the sunset over the stadium.

 

“You are so basic, KJ.”

 

“Basic and getting a picture of this sunset.” He turns to her, holding the phone right in front of her face in what she knows is an unflattering angle. “Smile, love.”

 

“No,” she groans, covering her face and letting her hair fall in front of her eyes. She should have never taken her sunglasses off. “That’s going to look gross.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian laughs, pulling back and flipping through the photos where she pretty much looks like the girl from The Ring with a double chin and only one eye that opens, “I think these look pretty good.”

 

“Delete those.”

  
  
“Oh no, I’m keeping them forever. Might even post them online.”

  
  
“That is a threat that I do not like, and I will unfollow you. That’s one less like on your artsy pictures of your food.”

  
  
“Oi,” he reaches over and pinches the skin on her inner thigh, “that was one time, and you won’t let it go.”

 

“You stood up over the table and turned your flashlight on to get good lighting.”

  
  
“It was a good breakfast.”

 

“Sure, babe,” she laughs, placing her hand over his on her thigh. “I know you’re just a basic girl on Instagram.”

 

“Well, in that case,” he yawns, dramatically stretching his arm over her shoulder and yanking her closer, “let’s take a selfie.”

 

“Oh my God, you are so not smooth.” She can’t stop laughing, is sure that her face is heating from the constant movement, but that doesn’t stop her from leaning her cheek into his and smiling while he holds the phone up and takes several pictures. “But I like your basic girl tendencies.”

 

“Good, and now I have photos so I can scrapbook my big trip to Boston.”

 

“Stop,” she groans, burying her head in his shoulder while his entire body shakes in laughter underneath her. He is not going to make a scrapbook. That would just be…ridiculous.

 

“Never. You want something to eat?”

 

“Obviously, yes. I thought about just waiting until afterwards so I didn’t spend the money on the overpriced cheeseburger, but I want the damn overpriced cheeseburger.” She gets up from her chair, pulling her shorts up and making sure her sweater is still tucked in. “What do you want?”

 

“I was going to go get it, Swan.”

 

“Nah, my treat, KJ. You can stay here and watch this riveting game. There’s so much happening.”

 

“You say that and something will definitely happen while you’re gone. And I’ll just eat whatever you’re having, but with a water.”

 

“How do you know I wasn’t going to get a water?”

 

He taps his forehead, smiling up at her so that his eyes crinkle. “I just know.”

 

She rolls her eyes before grabbing her purse and maneuvering her way out of their row of seats, apologizing to everyone as she steps over them and blocks their view. There’s a concession stand just outside of their gate, so she quickly slides into line, pulling out her phone and scrolling through Instagram. Maybe she’s a basic girl of Instagram too.

 

There’s a picture of Leo at the top of her timeline. He’s holding a sign saying he’s going to be a big brother. She likes it, laughing under her breath. Maybe they’ve all fallen into the trap of being basic. It’s whatever. She likes the cute pictures. As she continues to scroll, she sees a hell of a lot of pictures of her old classmates from college standing in front of colorful murals, cheesy captions with them all, as well as one from Victor where he’s posted all of the used coffee cups in his office. Kind of gross but whatever. He works weird shifts.

 

And then suddenly there’s a picture of her. Well, kind of her. Or at least her hair. Her face is buried in Killian’s shoulder while he smiles at the camera. It must have been when he was taking the pictures and she couldn’t stop laughing. When she slides to the right, there’s a picture of the stadium with the sun setting over it. It really is a good picture.

 

 **KillianJonesOfficial:** She knocks my (red) sox off.

 

Her cheeks immediately blush while she likes it, knowing better than to click on the comments. They talked about how things with them would likely go public the more they go out, and she said she was fine with it. She doesn’t necessarily like it, especially if there’s going to be the occasional person following her around, but she also doesn’t want to have to hide away in her apartment when they can go out and do things like this.

 

Though, Killian probably shouldn’t have posted this while they’re at the game. That doesn’t seem like a good idea.

 

She eventually gets to the front of the line, ordering their meals and waiting for them to be made until she’s got all of the junk food she needs (she’s definitely going to have to go for a run in the morning) and is making her way back up the stairs, hoping that she doesn’t drop everything while navigating the small aisles.

 

“Thanks,” Killian says as she hands him his tray and his water, holding down her seat so she doesn’t do something klutzy like fall on her ass.

 

“Mhm,” she hums, popping a fry in her mouth. As good of a time as she had at dinner the other night, this is her kind of date. “So, um, I see that you’re stealing my jokes for your captions.”

  
  
“You are not the only one to ever say that joke.”

  
  
“It was still my joke.” She eats another fry as Martinez hits a homerun, something finally happening in the game. Everyone around them cheers, a few wolf whistles thrown around, while music plays over the speakers and the hit is replayed on the jumbotrons. “But I’m glad I make you write cheesy captions. Aren’t you worried about people coming to find you, though? Isn’t that a thing?”

 

“Aye, but those girls down in front of us have been sneaking pictures of me all night. I figured it was just a matter of time.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

  
  
“Don’t be, love. I’m having a bloody good time even if this is the most boring game I’ve ever been to. I was expecting more from the team who beat my Dodgers for the World Series.”

  
  
“Ah, I get it now. You’re just salty that you lost.”

 

“Damn straight. I was at the game.”

 

“And things just make all the more sense.”

 

The game finishes a little before nine, most everyone having cleared out already, so as a breeze washes over the night, they make their way back to the parking garage she parked in a few blocks over. Most people are beginning to settle into bars and pubs, a Friday night just beginning for most, and when she suggests that they go to a pub, Killian almost falls out on the sidewalk talking about how his ass hurts from sitting in tiny plastic seats for three hours and how he absolutely cannot sit on anything that’s not a soft cushion. When she teases him about thirty-three hitting him early, he doesn’t say anything, stretching his legs out only for his knees to pop…and then to pop again when he settles down into the passenger seat of her car.

 

She doesn’t say anything then, just silently reaches over and pats his thigh while they wait in traffic to get out of the garage. He grabs her hand only to put it down and reach over to take her left wrist in his hand, quickly kissing the inside of her wrist. She doesn’t know why he does that, but she’s noticed it over the past week. It happens about as often as he reaches up and scratches behind is ear, and it makes something inside of her flutter. She’s not sure if anything in her body is supposed to flutter, but something does.

 

Maybe one day she’ll ask him why he does the wrist thing.

 

Maybe one day she’ll tell him she loves him too.

 

Once they get away from Fenway, the traffic thins out and it’s a quick drive home, Emma easily pulling into her parking space in front of her apartment and grabbing her bag of work clothes out of her backseat before unlocking the front door of the building and taking the stairs up to her apartment with Killian behind her.

 

“I’m going to go take a shower, okay?”

 

Killian nods as he settles himself down on the couch, and she quickly makes her way into the bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat while she strips away her clothes and tosses them into her hamper. It’s been a long week, and as much as she loves having Killian here, she hasn’t gotten nearly as much sleep as she usually does. She really likes her sleep.

 

It’s probably the fastest shower of her life, just a quick rinse off of the sweat and grime collected at the game, before she’s hopping out and wrapping a towel around her chest and in her hair so she can wash her face. She usually does a face mask once a week, and she’s definitely neglected that this week and can already feel herself breaking out. So she slathers on the cream, covering herself in the green mask before sliding on pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt.

 

When she walks back into the living room, she plops down next to Killian, who is watching Live PD for some reason. Kind of weird but it’s whatever. One of her favorite things about him being here are discovering his weird tendencies that she doesn’t get to see when they’re apart.

 

“How was your shower, Jim Carrey?”

 

She turns to look at him, and he’s smirking at her, his lips ticking up to the right while his eyes slant. “What now?”

 

“Jim Carrey,” he repeats, waving his hand in her face, “you know, like the Mask?”

 

“Oh my God,” she groans, having to restrain herself from hiding her face in her hands so she doesn’t mess her mask up while it dries, “I knew I should have stayed in the bathroom until I wiped it off.”

 

“Yeah, that was a horrible mistake on your part, love.”

 

She chuckles, leaning down into the cushions and watching someone get pulled over for driving without a license or a license plate, which is definitely not a smart move. She lets out a large breath, her stomach extending with the movement. Another thing about Killian being here is that she’s eating a hell of a lot more and going to the gym less.

 

And sex only counts a little. She’s not going to be one of those weird people who says their gym is the bedroom. Like, why are there people who not only think that but who feel the need to share it with others?

 

“Do you want to get up and go running in the morning?

 

“It depends.”

 

“On what?”

 

“Are you still going to be wearing that mask? Because I’m just not sure I can be seen with you looking like that.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

His thighs and calves ache as he moves, soreness hitting him before the runner’s high does. He’s one of those weird people who actually enjoys running, but some mornings he just doesn’t feel like it, his body screaming in protest when he pushes through the pain. This is one of those mornings.

 

But Emma had wanted to go running, said something about not wanting to get too out of the groove of exercise even while he was in town, so he’d stupidly agreed, even when he tried to coax her back into bed with him this morning instead of getting dressed and venturing outside to run. They’re out here now, though, running along the pavement next to the Charles river while sweat beads at his forehead despite the breeze and cool early morning temperatures. He’s just glad that they’re doing this now instead of in the middle of the afternoon.

 

Not that they could do this during the afternoon. They’re going to David and Mary Margaret’s house today, something he’s excited about yet absolutely terrified to do. Emma doesn’t have a biological family, but from what he can tell, the Nolans and Ruby are family for her. They’re her support system, so while he may not be meeting the parents, he sure as hell feels like he is.

 

He hopes it goes better than it did for Ben Stiller.

 

He’s pretty sure it can’t go worse.

 

“You are slacking, KJ,” Emma teases, slowing down her run to fall back into step with him. She’s got a bright smile on her face, amusement dancing across her eyes. She might as well not even be running. It’s ridiculous. At least she’s sweating. If she wasn’t sweating he would swear that he’s dating some kind of mythical being.

 

“I was not the one who wanted to go running this morning,” he huffs, taking in a breath to try to regulate his breathing, “and I’m pretty sure we’ve on mile five.”

 

“Six.”

 

“Well damn, we might as well go inside now.”

 

“No,” Emma groans, scrunching her face up in a way that he’s really come to love, “We can do two more, and then we’ll go get breakfast, okay?”

 

“You’re killing me, Swan.”

 

She winks before she sprints forward, and he’s not sure if he’s loving this view of her arse in her leggings or hating it because he’s got to catch up with her and keep up with her for the next two miles. Today just isn’t his day for running, but he’s not going to let Emma think that she’s this much faster than him.

 

He might kill himself in the process, but he’s not going to let her have bragging rights of the unspoken race that they’re competing in.

 

When they finally finish, Emma collapses down onto a bench, her chest heaving up and down while she catches her breath, and she immediately takes down her ponytail only to pull it back up again and wipe away the sweat into her hair. Her cheeks are red, her face a little pale, and if she looks like that much of a mess when she looked fine three ( _“it was supposed to be two, Swan_ ”) miles ago, he can’t begin to imagine what he looks like. Not that he really cares. He honestly just wants to be able to breathe again.

 

“I hate you,” he groans as his joints scream at him while he settles down on the bench next to her. The river is right in front of him, trees shading them, and if he didn’t feel like he was dying, he’d probably love this view. He misses the view of the ocean from his bedroom, but he’s gladly traded it to get to feel like he’s dying while running with Emma.

 

A fair trade.

 

“I know,” she soothes, reaching over and patting his inner thigh, keeping her hand there, “but you’ll recover from this. Don’t you run on the beach? How is this worse?”

 

“I had two glasses of rum last night...which I’m pretty sure was actually early this morning.”

 

“Wow, lightweight.”

 

She pinches his bare thigh, his shorts have ridden up when he sat down, and he slaps away her hand only to lean down and lightly bite her earlobe like the mature adult he is. He likes the little noise she makes when he does that. It’s like a yelp and a squeal, and he wants to hear it all of the time. “I had two glasses of rum and some very heavy food followed by a lack of sleep because we got caught up watching reruns of The Office.”

 

“This is a good point.” Emma leans over and rests her head on his shoulder, stretching out her legs and flexing her ankles around, her calves flexing with the movement. “We can go at a later time tomorrow. Or you can sit on your ass while I go to the gym. But I really can’t go another week without exercising.”

 

“Aye, I know. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you have to change your routine. You should go to the gym if you want. You don’t have to just run with me.”

 

“Nah,” she sighs, gently squeezing his thigh again while her stray hairs manage to get caught in his mouth, “this is fine. I kind of like running with you. I think we can just do it a few times next week, and I’ll be all good. I don’t need to go every day. I think my limbs might fall off.”

 

“What a shame. I do rather like your limbs.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Absolutely. Your left leg is my favorite.”

 

Emma chuckles next to him, quickly turning her head to kiss his cheek all while she raises her left leg a little higher in the air, running her hands along it while she teasingly shows it off. He likes when she’s playful like this, loves it really. It’s refreshing for her to be so happy.

 

It’s refreshing to get to see it in person.  

 

His phone buzzes several times in his pocket, and he takes it out, untangling the headphones that are wrapped around it so he can read the messages.

 

_Robin: Will you be back by the sixth?_

_Killian: Yep. My flight is that morning._

_Robin: Okay, good. They need you to reshoot one more scene for HW. There was apparently a problem with the lighting, and they can’t fix it in editing._

_Killian: Just email me the info._

_Killian: I can only film late afternoon on the sixth or on the morning of the seventh._

_Robin: We have the contract negotiations for Yours Truly on the seventh, so you’ve got to film the night of the sixth._

_Killian: Okay. But I already said I was leaning away from that one._

_Robin: Yeah, I know, but it’s not a definite no. So we at least have to go in for it. Maybe you’ll change your mind._

_Killian: Fine. Just send me the emails. I’ll look at everything tomorrow._

“You okay?” Emma asks, reaching behind his back and rubbing her hand into his spine, hard enough to work out some of the tenseness that’s gathered.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he promises, turning his phone screen off and stuffing it in his pocket. “Just work stuff, love. I’ve apparently got to do one more reshoot for Highland Waters. And Rob’s reminding me of a meeting we’ve got.”

 

She hums next to him before standing, stretching out her legs a little bit more, and grabbing onto his hands, lacing their fingers together and pulling them up to rest against her chest. “It is Saturday. We do not work on Saturdays, okay?”

 

“I work on Saturdays all of the time.”

 

“Not today, babe. Not today.”

 

* * *

 

 “What should I wear?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

He turns around to face Emma, who’s stretched out on her bed looking at her phone while her hair dries, the long strands falling over the edge of the mattress and hitting the floor.

 

“What should I wear to the Nolans?”

 

“Whatever strikes your fancy.”

 

He rolls his eyes, dropping the button down he was holding and walking the few steps over to the bed, crawling up onto it and placing his knees on both sides of Emma’s legs and using his elbows to keep him propped up over her so that his face hovers just above her, the scent of her body wash invading him. But Emma hasn’t moved her phone, is still looking at it, so he has to snake his hand up and take it out of her hand, tossing it on the bed so she’ll pay attention.

 

“Hey, I was doing something.”

 

“What were you doing, Swan?” he nudges, quickly dipping his head and sliding his lips over hers, nibbling a bit before pulling back. “Because I’m pretty sure you were playing that damn numbers game on your phone when I was talking to you.”

 

“I was listening,” she protests, running her hands up his chest until she’s got her fingers locked behind his neck, “but I was also about to beat the level I was on. All of your talk about clothes was distracting me.”

 

“You are such a kind,” he leans down to press a kiss against her cheek, “considerate,” another one against her nose, “loving,” a kiss against her jaw, “woman.”

 

“Aren’t I?”

 

“Aye, obviously.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him, even if he should be the one rolling his eyes at her. “You should wear your jeans, the dark ones, and the dark plaid shirt, one of your t-shirts underneath. It’s casual, and they keep their house cold.”

 

“Thank you.” He quickly pecks her lips before flipping off of her. “That’s all I asked.”

 

After they’re dressed, Emma taking a hell of a lot less time than him, they load up into Emma’s bug, which he thinks he finds more charming by the day. He has absolutely no idea how the thing is still running, but he’s pretty sure it’s fueled by Emma’s willpower. No, he’s absolutely sure that’s how it’s fueled. But Emma and her trusty bug drive him the twenty minutes to the Nolans’ neighborhood that’s just outside of the city, close enough that the houses are all packed in there but backyards are still a thing. They have a kid and a dog, plus the other little one on the way, so apartment living like Emma is obviously not for them.

 

From what he’s heard, they’re pretty much the poster family for suburban families.

 

And his suspicions and ideas are pretty much confirmed when they walk up the front steps and are greeted by every single member of the family, all of them smiling (kind of creepily if he’s honest) at he and Emma as they wait on the small porch after ringing the doorbell.

 

“You guys have got to work on your casual smiles because wow,” Emma whistles, taking a step closer and picking Leo up before the kid loses his mind talking to her, “you are not at all smooth.”

 

“Emma, who’s that?”

 

He’s got a toddler’s finger in his face before he can move out of the way, confusion and a little bit of concern painted over Leo’s features. “That, buddy, is Killian. You want to say hi?”

 

Leo slants his green eyes, his suspicion really obvious, and Killian has never felt so intimidated by someone under the age of three before in his entire life. Okay, so maybe when Aiden was born he was a little intimidated, or really terrified that he’d do something like drop him. He was so damn small. It was insane. But now he’s terrified that he’s being judged by a toddler.

 

“Hi, Leo,” he waves, bending his knees so he can be on Leo’s level in Emma’s arms. “I like your shirt.”

 

Leo shyly waves back before looking down at his shirt, pulling it off of his body. “It’s Superman,” he tells him, his voice small and a bit broken, the words not too clear.

 

“You know, Leo, Killian knows Superman.”

 

_Oh, thank you, Emma_ , he thinks. Leo’s eyes immediately light up, his love for Superman obvious even with his young age. His parents must have him watch the cartoon. Usually kids under three don’t know too many superheroes, the movies too mature for them, but there are a few children’s cartoons out there that usually make the Halloween costumes popular.

 

“Really?”

 

“Absolutely,” he assures Leo, “he’s very nice. And brave. And I know he would like you.” He reaches down to tug at Leo’s hair, ruffling it the slightest bit before turning to face David and Mary Margaret and sticking his hand out until David takes it. “It’s nice to meet you, David. You too, Mary Margaret. Thanks for having us over today.”

 

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” Mary Margaret squeals, her entire face full with her smile. “I have heard so much about you! And I’ve been absolutely dying to meet you! Obviously, we’re big fans of your work too!”

 

His cheeks flush, and he briefly wonders if he can go hide out in the car for a minute until he isn’t blushing. “Thank you, lass. I’ve heard so much about you two as well.”

 

David doesn’t really say much, just smiling and nodding his head, before they’re all ushered inside. Their house is exactly how he thought it would be, warm colors and inviting furniture, toys scattered everywhere even though he’s sure they likely tried to straighten up beforehand. But if he’s learned anything from Liam and Elsa, when you have a child, all bets are off for having a clean house.

 

When you have an Emma, pretty much all bets are off for having a clean house too.

 

But he doesn’t mind, following Mary Margaret into the house and into the kitchen where she’s got food scattered across all of her countertops. He asks her what she’s cooking, and it’s apparently some kind of baked potato casserole.

 

(Maybe it’s a good thing that he and Emma went running this morning.)

 

He offers to help, telling Mary Margaret that he loves to cook when she protests and says he’s a guest, and with that, Emma and David excuse themselves to go sit in the living room and hang out with Leo. For a minute he’s anxious about Emma leaving him alone with Mary Margaret, but the woman is so sweet that she immediately starts talking to him, asking him about his favorite recipes and go-to meals. It’s a conversation that’s easy to fall into, and before he knows it, there’s no silences between the two of them. The food talk fades into talk of Mary Margaret’s job, and he lets her tell him all about her students, which is a subject she’s _extremely_  passionate about.

 

He’s pretty sure by the time the casserole is in the oven and he’s chopping up carrots for the salad, he can repeat each of her students’ names and their favorite subject in school as well as the subject they actually excel at. But he doesn’t mind learning about someone else’s job, especially if they’re passionate about it. He enjoys it.

 

Plus, Mary Margaret is oddly entertaining, the way she flits in and out of being someone who’s as soft and sweet as candy but then can mutter the word “fuck” underneath her breath when she nearly burns the rolls she’s cooking.

 

He likes her. He can see why Emma does too, and he’s glad that they all found each other at university.

 

“Hey,” Emma greets, walking into the kitchen and squeezing his hip before she reaches into a cabinet and grabs a glass, filling it with water from the fridge, “it smells fantastic in here. You guys doing good?”

 

“Great, love.”

 

“Oh, Emma, Killian is just fantastic. He’s been telling me all about what it was like living in Australia for a few months. You know how I’ve always wanted to go.”

 

“So he’s schmoozing you with his worldly ways, Marg?”

 

“Oh completely.” Emma comes to stand next to him, resting her hips against the edge of counter, while Mary Margaret continues to talk. “I mean, we talked about food forever, but then somehow we got off on this tangent. Makes me feel so…untraveled.”

 

“Marg, you and David went to France for your honeymoon. I know because when you came back you were always saying things like ‘when I was abroad’ or ‘you know in France.’”

 

“I did not.”

 

“You definitely did. I thought Ruby was going lose her mind from holding back her tongue.”

 

“Oh God,” Ruby groans, walking into the room with someone who must be Victor standing behind her, a bottle of wine in his hand. Talk about weird timing. He didn’t even hear the door open. “Mary Margaret you were the actual _worst_. And David wasn’t much better.”

 

“David was worse,” Emma adds in before taking a sip of her water.

 

“Hello, lover boy,” Ruby greets, nodding her head at him.

 

All he can do is chuckle in response as he shakes his head back and forth. The lass has the personality of about five different people combined, and she’s always keeping him on his toes when she’s around. Mostly because he has no idea what outrageous thing she’s going to say to embarrass the hell out of him. He didn’t think that he became embarrassed easily, but he was apparently wrong.

 

“Hi, Ruby. Nice to see you again.”

 

“Well, it’s always nice to see you, Jones.” Emma laughs beside him, and he looks down to see her rolling her eyes into her cup, so he wraps his arm around her waist and thumbs at the strip of skin between her jeans and her shirt. “Vic, this is Killian, Emma’s boyfriend.”

 

“The actor, right?”

 

“Aye,” he nods, reaching across the kitchen island to shake Victor’s hand, smiling at him and feeling a bit of relief that he’s now met most of the people in Emma’s life without total disaster. “You work at Mass Gen, right?”

 

“For two years now, yeah. It’s great. And I really like being back home after living in Atlanta for so long.”

 

“I can imagine.”

 

He doesn’t know what else to say, all of the words he knows dying on the tip of his tongue, but luckily David comes back into the kitchen with a squirming Leo who absolutely just has to show Killian his Superman toys, so with little coaxing, he moves his hand off of Emma’s waist and follows Leo into the living room, settling down on the carpet while Leo unpacks an entire basket of toys. One by one Leo places stuffed animals and plastic figures over his lap, making his jeans disappear from sight.

 

Leo is only a year and a half older than Aiden is, and he absolutely cannot believe the difference that time makes. He’s like his own little man, talking in broken sentences and describing to him the names of each of his toys. He doesn’t know what it means that the only man in this house that he’s truly gotten along with is a toddler, but he’s chalking it up to this being their first meeting. It’s not like they’ve known each other for months or years. It’s a few hours, so he’s not expecting to make any new best friends.

 

He was just kind of hoping that he wouldn’t be fumbling around like an idiot in front of everyone.

 

Emma finds him after he’s been with Leo for a few minutes, settling down next to him and idly moving the toys on his legs over to hers. “You okay?”

 

“I’m perfect. Why?”

 

“You’re just a little quiet is all.”

 

“David and Victor…they, uh, intimidate me.”

 

“What? Babe, that’s ridiculous.”

 

“I know, I know,” he sighs, relaxing his back against the couch, his arse starting to hurt from sitting on the floor. “I just…I don’t know what to say. I talk with people I don’t know all of the time, but I feel like they don’t like me.”

 

“First of all, they like you. Victor doesn’t even know anything about you, and as good as he is for Ruby, he’s never been much of a conversationalist. And David is…he’s David. I think he’s trying to play the role of my father when that is exactly what I told him not to do.”

 

“That’s kind of what I figured by all of the stares and crossed arms.”

 

“He’ll warm up to you.” She reaches over and squeezes his hand, interlacing their fingers before bringing them up to her lips and kissing his knuckles. “I promise. And if he doesn’t, I can kick his a-s-s.”

 

“Ah, ah, Swan. Here I thought that I was the spelling bee champion in this relationship.”

 

“Well, it looks like we are just hitting it out of the ballpark on every level. Those people in the kitchen can’t compare to us.”

 

“Wasn’t aware it was a competition.”

 

She nudges his shoulder. “Always.”

 

“Food’s ready,” David yells from the kitchen, his voice loudly echoing throughout the house. “Make sure to remember to bring my kid back, Emma.”

 

* * *

 

 Emma slides down onto his lap, easily settling her arse onto his thighs while his arm wraps around her waist and he pats against her stomach, David continuing to tell him about the improvements around the house. He hasn’t decided if David is just really into home improvement or if he’s awkwardly searching for things to talk about with him and that’s the first thing that came to mind. It’s still a bit awkward, the dinner they all ate together making things the slightest bit better, and he’s glad that Emma’s returned from the bathroom. She was gone for what felt like hours, and he feels like he formulated about ten different ways to excuse himself to go outside where Ruby and Victor are arguing over Victor’s coworker. He’s only known the man for a few hours, and he knows that Victor definitely should not have mentioned that he was dating one of his coworkers before he got back together with Ruby. In front of all of Ruby’s friends, at least. Maybe when he was alone with Ruby.  

 

Especially since Ruby didn’t know about it.

 

Yeah, that’s what he would find preferable to talk about over the new faucet David installed in their guest bathroom. Maybe that’s why Emma was gone for so long. She couldn’t get the water to turn on or was too damn fascinated by the faucet.

 

“Where’s Marg?” she whispers in his ear, placing her hands over his on her stomach.

 

“She took Leo upstairs to get ready for bed, said that Dave and I should talk.”

 

“How’s that going?”

 

“I can hear you two,” David groans, cutting a glance over at them that makes Emma lean her cheek against his.

 

“I know” she laughs. “I was expecting you to. Why are you boring Killian with home improvement stuff? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t do any of his own stuff.”

 

“Oi, I know how to do some things, but honestly I do just call Will if it gets a little more complex than following an instruction manual.”

 

“Exactly. Talking about the different types of screwdrivers is not a great conversation topic. You could have just talked about all of the murder you see at work or something. That’s a fun thing.”

 

“I could always ask him what his intentions are with you.”

 

He feels Emma almost lunge off of his lap, his forearm holding her back, and he chuckles into her hair while she grits out, “We talked about that. You’re supposed to be nice and also not someone out of the, like, 1800s. No one says things like that anymore.”

 

So maybe Emma was right earlier. Maybe David is just a bit stilted with him because he’s trying to fill some kind of role. He’s like Liam, Killian realizes, more ease settling into him than he’s felt all night. He’s just protective, cautious, and if anything, he’s doing a hell of a lot better job than Liam did when he met Emma.

 

“Well, I’m just curious. I can’t remember the last time you let us meet a boyfriend. I think it was Walsh.”

 

“And that went so well.”

 

“What happened when David met Walsh, love?”

 

“Oh, Walsh’s first words when I was out of the room were about my ass. And then he asked David if he had ever ‘hit that.’”

 

“Wow,” Killian whistles, disbelief settling in his stomach, “he sounds like a wanker.”

 

“He was,” David answers, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall against his sides. “You seem like less of one.”

 

Ah, so things aren’t going too badly then. He leans his head forward, flashing David the brightest smile that he can muster. “Aw, Dave, I knew you’d warm up to me.”

 

“Don’t push things,” David growls, his lips twitching the slightest bit, almost into a smile.

 

“Anyways,” Emma begins, adjusting herself so that she rubs herself into him (which is definitely not a good thing for where they are) as a Bruins commercial plays on the television, “someone explain to me how Gritty is still around. I saw a commercial with him last night, and I am still disturbed.”

 

“I think that’s why, love. Good marketing.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s, like, aren’t kids just going to be terrified of him?”

 

“I’m terrified of him,” David adds. “And then those people who have a fear of mascots…this probably just proves their point.”

 

“Is that a real thing? Just being scared of all mascots. Like, are people scared of Mickey Mouse?”

 

“Aye,” he confirms. “Elsa’s sister is bloody terrified of all of them. I think it’s related to the whole clown thing we were talking about the other day.”

 

“Isn’t she a costume designer? Doesn’t she, you know, dress people up as other things for a living?”

 

“Ironic, I know.”

 

“And Elsa is?”

 

“My brother’s wife,” Killian explains, looking to the side when he hears the front door open and close, Ruby and Victor walking in side by side with smiles on their faces and Ruby’s shirt hanging off her shoulder and Victor’s hair sticking up all over the place. He’s not going to ask about that. At all. Even if he wonders where the hell they could have fooled around when all of the houses out here are practically on top of each other. “They have a son, Aiden, who’s one.”

 

“And this is the brother who threatened to call the cops on Emma?”

 

“David,” Emma chastises, her chest heaving and body flinching under his touch, “we worked that out. It’s not a thing anymore.”

 

“But you haven’t even talked to Liam.”

 

“I haven’t _seen_  him. I’ll talk to him when I see him. Killian and I are good. There’s no need to bring up the shitty stuff.”

 

“Exactly,” Ruby huffs, obviously still a bit frustrated with Victor from what he can tell. “Can we have beer now that your mini me is asleep?”

 

“You could have had it before.”

 

“You did have it before, honey. I can taste it on your tongue.”

 

At that, Victor pretty much licks into Ruby’s mouth, his tongue visible to everyone in the room, and Killian almost gags. He’s all about showing the woman you love that you love her, but not necessarily like that…in front of people. But Emma’s told him how well Ruby and Victor work together, and while he doesn’t see that quite yet, he’s beginning to understand a bit. They’re like two fiery personalities who somehow don’t consistently crash...despite earlier. Maybe he just needs to spend time with them. He liked Ruby the night they met at the gala, but he can definitely understand how having a friend like her would be an adjustment. She’s like Will on steroids.

 

“You guys are disgusting,” Emma groans, moving his arm off of her stomach so that she can get up, the loss of heat immediate. “What movie are we watching tonight?”

 

“Infinity War.”

 

“The Princess Bride.”

 

“Bohemian Rhapsody.”

 

“Okay, so that’s not a consensus at all,” Emma sighs as she pulls her jeans up. “You guys figure something out while I go make popcorn and get the drinks or Mary Margaret gets to decide on the movie.”

 

“No,” everyone but him yells at once, and that’s the moment he learns to never let Mary Margaret pick out a movie.

 

“Exactly. Decide.”

 

It’s more difficult than he would expect to pick out a movie, but he doesn’t often sit around and watch movies with his mates. They usually only come over for a football match or two, and they always know exactly which game to watch. But while Emma’s gone, they scroll through Netflix, hurrying along when Mary Margaret comes back downstairs and settles down next to David, immediately pointing to a romantic comedy that looks as if it was made in a high school...by middle schoolers.

 

“Oooh, we could watch _Hush,”_ Ruby suggests, looking at him. “Aren’t you shirtless in a scene in that movie?”

 

He blushes, not being able to help himself. Yeah, so that’s another reason why he doesn’t watch a lot of movies with his mates. They always tease him about everything. Emma’s friends have seemed to catch onto that quickly.

 

“Yeah, let’s not watch that,” Victor adds in.

 

“I agree, Vic. That’s not something I really want to see. No offense, Jones.”

 

“None taken. I agree with both of you. A hell of a lot, actually.”

 

They do eventually end up settling on one of the Thor movies. Ruby and Victor have somehow never seen it, even if it’s over a year old at this point, and he in David couldn’t let that slide. He also makes a note that he can talk about movies with David if their conversation ever gets stilted again. He feels like it eventually has to get better. This is just a first meeting, and those aren’t exactly known for being the smoothest things in the world. Plus, he thinks he’s doing great getting on with Mary Margaret and Ruby. He likes them a lot, and he hopes they like him. It’s been awhile since he had to meet the friends of a girlfriend, and he’s been downplaying how much he hopes they all like him ever since Emma told him they were all hanging out today.

 

Because he really wants them to like him. It’s important to him, and he knows it’s important to Emma even if she’s downplaying it too. This is like her family. These are her people, the ones she’s allowed into her life, and he understands the significance of her allowing him to be a part of the group too. It’s one thing for it to just be the two of them. It’s another for her to want him to be in more aspects of her life.

 

While they’re trying to get the speaker the Nolans just installed (another one of David’s handyman projects), he gets up to head to the kitchen where Emma is padding back and forth on her feet while popcorn cooks in the microwave, several other bowls already filled up.

 

“You,” he begins stepping up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist while he presses a kiss against her cheek. “are cooking popcorn for the masses, love. We just ate dinner.”

 

“Hmm, doesn’t mean there’s not room in our stomachs for popcorn. What are we watching?”

 

“Ragnarok. Ruby and Victor have never seen it somehow.”

 

“That’s because Victor barely leaves the hospital and Ruby’s pop culture kryptonite is movies. It’s the one thing she isn’t an expert in.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“She has issues sitting through an entire movie.” The microwave beeps and Emma moves herself out of his arms to open the door and grab the bag, shaking it around before pouring it in a large bowl. “Do you want candy mixed in with this, KJ?”

 

“If I say no is that going to change anything?”

 

“Nope. You want to see what they have to drink? I know they don’t have rum, but they usually have some pretty good stuff.”

 

“I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight. One of us has to drive home.”

 

Emma opens her mouth, almost like she’s going to say something, but then her lips close and he sees the slightest shake of her head. Whatever it was, she’s obviously changed her mind. “I honestly was just going to devour the lemonade Marg made. It’s full of sugar, but it’s so damn good. So you can drink if you want to. I don’t mind driving. I mean, I drove us here.”

 

He nods, still not really wanting anything, but he does grab the beers for everyone else as well as picking up a bowl of popcorn so Emma’s not carrying all three of them back into the living room. When he gets back, Victor and Ruby have settled themselves onto his spot, Mary Margaret and David taking up the other couch, so he puts the food and drinks on the coffee table before reclaiming the large recliner, figuring he and Emma can share even if her knows it’ll likely kill their thighs after a few hours. But that’s what they do, Emma joining him not a minute later, handing him her bowl of popcorn that he’s pretty sure is filled with gummy candies while she squeezes into the small sliver of space next to him, one arse cheek propped up on him while the other rests on the cushion. She’s definitely not going to last long like that.

 

“You eat like a child,” he tells her when she takes her first big handful of popcorn, stuffing it in her face all at once.

 

“Hush,” she shushes, leaning over and brushing a kiss against the side of his jaw. “I know you like gummy candies. They’re sour too. I got them out of Marg’s not-so-secret stash.”

 

“Stealing and bribery? A regular pirate.”

 

“Well, I figured Loki would be proud since that’s what we’re watching. Keeping in the theme and all.”

 

“Aye, I imagine he would be. What kind of candy did everyone else get?”

 

“Nothing. Then Marg would know I went through her stash.”

 

He has to bite his tongue to keep his laughter from being too loud, even if Chris Hemsworth is spinning around in chains on screen, as well as biting it so he doesn’t tell Emma he loves her then and there. He’s been tempted to so many times in the past week, their proximity making it more difficult to hide how he feels, but he told himself he’d wait for her, let her take the lead. At least on this.

 

“You are sneaky, Swan.”

 

“I know. I have nimble fingers.”

 

He waggles his eyebrows at her, kissing her temple and adjusting his arm around her shoulder before turning back and actually paying attention to the movie.

 

Sometime later, he wakes with a crick in his neck and a pain in his thigh, the muscles twitching the slightest bit. It takes several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness so that he can understand where exactly he is. Bloody hell, he fell asleep during the movie, and considering the only person left in the room is Emma, everyone else must have gone off to bed or gone home.

 

He feels Emma twitch on top of him, her legs stretching out in front of him while her entire body lifts off the seat. “What time is it?” she mumbles, burying her face in his shoulder.

 

He fumbles around for his phone, pulling it out of the pocket and trying not to cringe at the brightness of the screen. “A little past two in the morning.”

 

“Shit. That’s late. We should go home.”

 

“I’m sure David and Mary Margaret wouldn’t mind if we stayed here."

 

“My back minds.” Slowly, Emma gets up from the seat, immediately stretching her hands up over her head, her shirt lifting to show the muscles of her stomach. “I’m not sleeping in a chair or on a couch when I have a perfectly good bed at home.”

 

“But we’ll have to move.”

 

“Uh huh,” she sighs, reaching up and rubbing her fists over her eyes to rub out the sleep. “Come on. There won’t be any traffic. We’ll be back in, like, ten minutes. Let me just leave a note for Marg.”

 

True to her word, he and Emma are back in her apartment in ten minutes (he thinks it might have been eight and that she broke several traffic laws), and even though he thinks he’s going to fall asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, he doesn’t. Instead he’s wide awake, likely in that hazy period where you’re so tired that you can’t sleep, so tired that you actually have energy.

 

Bloody hell. He always hates this.

 

When he goes home, he seriously has to get back on a normal sleeping schedule. Filming for so long at such weird hours was like hell. Not to mention Emma being in a different time zone, even if that isn’t too bad. Not for him at least. He knows he must keep her up late.

 

Speak of the devil, she flops down on the mattress, her jeans and blouse gone and replaced with the pajamas he’s discovered that she prefers, before crawling under the covers and pulling them up to her neck like she’s forming some kind of human burrito. She’s also a blanket hog. Like, a serious blanket hog.

 

He’s just about to tug the comforter back over to him when she rolls over, landing right next to him and sticking her socked feet in between his calves. He’s glad she’s got on socks. She’s a blanket hog and has cold feet.

 

He loves her.

 

“So, you survived the meeting of the friends. How does it feel?”

 

“Like, a bloody relief.”

 

“It wasn’t _that_  bad,” she laughs, reaching over and rubbing her hand over his collarbone, making a shiver run down his spine. “I will admit that everyone wasn’t exactly their best selves tonight. Except for your new biggest fan Leo. Mary Margaret totally put him in that shirt on purpose.”

 

“I figured,” he chuckles, finding her waist under the comforter and pulling her closer. “I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed.”

 

“Both, I think. You’re _literally_  his hero.”

 

He scrunches up his nose, clicking his tongue but not protesting. He wants to, but he won’t. “So do you think I passed the imaginary test I was taking?”

 

“I’d like to think so.”

 

“Oh you don’t know?”

 

“Well, David is a tough grader. Ruby can be a bit finicky.”

 

“Technically, Ruby set us up, so really, she should be my biggest fan. Not Leo.”

 

“Shh,” she laughs, gently slapping his shoulder. “Don’t give Ruby any credit. She already lets her head get big every time we’re together. We don’t need more of that.”

 

“She can’t hear us, love.”

 

“She has her ways.”

 

He snickers underneath his breath, the laugh beginning to rumble in his stomach. He doesn’t doubt it. Ruby does seem like she has her ways to do everything.

 

“Well, I look forward to my report card.”

 

“If it matters, I’ll give you an ‘s’ for satisfactory.”

 

“Bloody hell, all I get is satisfactory?”

 

“Well, that’s how your sex is, so I figured that’s just how you’d get graded for everything.”

 

She squeals as he rolls over on top of her, caging her into the mattress and rubbing his scruff against her cheeks all the while his fingers move against her sides, knowing that she hates when anyone does this. “Satisfactory,” he gruffs, kissing along her jawline while she continues to laugh, her breath catching with each movement, “I’ll show you damn satisfactory.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

There’s the smallest of shivers running down the length of her spine, something subtle but altogether pleasurable. She can’t place it, doesn’t understand what this foreign feeling is. Everything is hazy, muted, and while the colors are beginning to come back to her, everything is currently still in shades of gray.

 

But color does comes back to her, the room brightening second by second, and the first thing she sees is the ceiling fan above her quickly rotating, obviously turned onto the highest speed as it spins around.

 

So then why is it so damn hot in this room?

 

And that’s when things start to make sense, the subtle shiver in her spine turning into one that affects her entire body, all of her senses alight with pleasure and desire, things she absolutely was not expecting to feel when she woke up this morning. Usually her mornings are full of reluctant wakefulness, only opening her eyes to turn the alarm on her phone off, only getting out of bed because she has to go to work, only going to work because she has to get paid to live.

 

That’s not how she wakes up today, though.

 

Today she wakes up with a throbbing at her core and a mop of messy black hair situated down between her thighs. How the hell did he even get down there without her waking up? Wasn’t she wearing pajama pants? She honestly can’t remember right now. Her entire focus is on what exactly Killian is doing to her body, and she’s got to say, this is a hell of a lot better than her alarm on her phone.

 

How could it ever compare?

 

She’s not sure if he even knows she’s awake, but the moment his tongue makes contact with her flesh, she gasps, her hips thrusting into the air and into his face all while her hands bunch into the sheets in a desperate attempt to stay still so that Killian won’t move away from what he’s doing. But he does stop, pulling himself away, the heat on her skin fading the slightest bit, only for him to look up at her with a raised eyebrow and a devilish smile.

 

Smirk. It’s a smirk. Definitely a smirk.

 

“Good morning, love.”

 

“It was,” she sighs, knowing that she’s got a smile on her face despite her best effort not to, “but then you stopped doing _that_.”

 

“Well, I just had to say good morning to you. What kind of gentleman would I be had I not even spoken to you?”

 

She rolls her eyes, unclenching the sheets and reaching down to run her hands through the top of his hair, pushing the strands out of his eyes and completely ignoring the ache in her body. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“Aye,” he agrees, dipping his head down and kissing against her stomach, just below where her tank top ends. His scruff burns against her skin, but she likes it, likes the way it feels. “I am utterly ridiculous,” he goes on, sinking his teeth into the flesh of her hip before quickly soothing it with his tongue in a way that makes her twitch. “But apparently you like that.”

 

With a growl, he moves down and licks against her core once, using his arms to spread her legs further apart so that her heels rest against his shoulder blades, her thighs caging him in. He continues to move his tongue against her, flattening it to lick stripes through the wetness that’s managed to gather there. Her hand grips into the sheet again, the one in his hair holding onto the strands with such force that she’d be scared she was going to pull out all of his hair if this didn’t feel so damn good.

 

She really likes his hair. It’s gorgeous and soft and his shampoo makes it smell fantastic, but she thinks she’d trade it in if she could feel like this all of the time.

 

He probably wouldn’t agree.

 

Suddenly his lips are wrapped around her flesh, and he’s kissing her there, driving her even further into the madness while she gasps, all of the breath in her body escaping in one exhale. And every time she thinks that she’s going to be able to breathe again, that she’s going to be able to calm her racing heartbeat, she can’t. He keeps kissing her flesh, lightly sucking on her clit all while soothing it with his tongue, and with each movement, she rolls her hips into him, likely keeping him from breathing as well.

 

So she’s apparently going to make him go bald and suffocate him. She always knew that sex could cause some bodily harm, but those weren’t things that she thought would happen.

 

His tongue and lips slow their movements, the harshness calming all while her core throbs and her thighs tremble. It’s all too much, the sensations almost painful, but as Killian continues to kiss her, using as much care as he does when he kisses her lips, the coil that’s been building in her stomach bursts, finally uncoiling and uncurling in small bursts of pleasure that have her biting her lip and sighing out every curse she can think of.

 

She’s not really having much success in thinking of anything other than _fuck_  right now.

 

As her legs still shake, she finally looks down at Killian. He’s pulled back from her but is still resting just above her core, his warm breath hitting against her sensitive flesh. He looks…destroyed, desperate almost, and she wonders how the hell him bringing her pleasure could make him look like that.

 

Obviously he’s still trying to make up for that satisfactory joke she made last week.

 

She was totally kidding.

 

He raises his eyebrow, the blue of his eyes peeking up at her while that devilish smirk forms on his lips again. God, he’s beautiful. It’s ridiculous, really. She has no idea how someone can be that gorgeous and charming…and good. He’s such a good guy, and it absolutely blows her mind.

 

The sex kind of blows her mind too.

 

“So,” she pants, her chest heaving up and down even as she tries to regulate her breathing, “I’m going to keep you around and just delete the alarm app on my phone, okay?”

 

Killian chuckles, the sound deep and throaty, against her inner thigh, and it makes her body begin to hum again. The fact that he nibbles on her skin the slightest bit definitely doesn’t help. Or maybe it does. “I think this would make you late to work every day, love.”

 

“I don’t care."

 

“You’ll get fired.”

 

“I kind of care.”  
  


“Yeah, exactly,” he breathes, his voice still at a lower decibel than usual. She doesn’t think about why until he’s crawling up her body, kissing her skin along the way, and then she can feel his erection pressing against her thigh, a few inches away from where she wants him. “You make the most delicious sounds when you’re falling apart, my darling.”

 

“Glad you like it,” she huffs, wrapping her hands around his neck and bringing his lips down to hers. She can faintly taste herself on his lips, the taste becoming more prominent as Killian flicks his tongue out against the seam of her lips, tasting and teasing her with the way that he nibbles.

 

“I do,” he groans into her mouth, rolling his hips against hers. “I really, truly do.”

 

He leans down and slowly moves over her body, his eyes dark and his lids hooded, other things besides talking very obviously on his mind. And she definitely doesn’t mind, letting him move off of her so that she can take off her shirt while he takes off his pants, his cock bobbing up against his stomach. Yeah, this is definitely how she’d like to wake up in the morning.

 

Before she can manage to move over Killian, to give him a thank you for what he just did to her, he’s flipping back over and slanting his lips over hers while his fingers dance against the flesh between her thighs, teasing the wetness that’s still gathered there. She gasps into his mouth, the sensitivity of his touch shocking her, and he chuckles against her lips, something dark and heady. He’s so warm, welcoming, and if she weren’t so keyed up, wasn’t aching for more, she’d spend as long as she could simply moving her lips over his.

 

She moves to wrap her arms around his back, pulling him on top of her so that he settles himself between her thighs, thick and heavy and hot against her skin. She immediately thrusts up against him, so damn ready for him to be inside of her, but he continuously kisses her, opening up his mouth to her and devouring her all while the coil within her belly continues to tighten again, her arousal growing at an alarming rate.

 

He’s always overwhelming her with the way that he cares, with the way that he takes his time, and all she really wants now is for him to fuck her.

 

“Condom,” she manages to get out between kisses, her own voice sounding darker than usual, and he nods his head against her skin, reaching over to her bedside table, pulling open the door and coming back with the package, only rolling off of her to roll the protection down his length.

 

His face is inches above hers, his cock nearly inside of her, and without anything else said in between them, he pushes into her, slowly filling her up and invading her with his warmth. She loves this, loves him, not that she’s shared that second part yet. She’s only known for sure for a week, but every day it’s a little harder not to tell him. She’s been scared of love, scared _to_   love, ever since Neal, since Walsh, and here she is diving in head first with someone who has the ability to break her heart into pieces that are a little more jagged than before.

 

A lot more jagged.

 

This one isn’t like the others. He’s not. Killian’s not. And she knows that it’s not because he knows what he’s doing as he moves inside of her now, controlling his thrusts so that they’re long and deep. Yeah, that sure as hell helps, but he’s more than that. He’s more than the sex and the attractiveness. He’s kind. He cares about her. He cares about her friends and her job, taking the time to learn about how she spends her day and who she spends it with. He makes her laugh to the point where she can’t breathe.

 

Kind of like she can’t breathe right now, every movement of his body above hers, every brush of his chest hair over her nipples making her gasp. Maybe even sob.

 

Mostly, though, he makes her comfortable. It’s something she’s never felt before. With everyone else, she always felt a bit on edge, like she was constantly trying to live up to some fantasy of what they wanted instead of being who she actually is. And the kicker is, the whole time, they were never being themselves either. Neal led another life. Walsh was a liar. All of the ones in between, the ones that didn’t make it to the stages of meeting friends or more than one or two dates, well, she has no idea if they were truthful. She didn’t even want to find out.

 

But this right now, this thing with Killian, it’s real. He acts for a living, but she knows that he’s not acting with her. She knows that this is him in all of the bravado and vulnerability, in the serious conversations about all of the sadness in his life and in the corniness of his jokes that make her face heat with absolute joy.

 

So as he moves above her and within her, his hips tilted to hit a new angle within her that makes her breath catch and her entire body heat, she lets go and lets him in. Completely. She doesn’t want any part of her to not be open to accepting him as this part of her life that’s becoming far more important than a date that she went on because she lost a bet.

 

Hitting the bullseye, she thinks.

 

“You are stunning,” Killian breathes against her ear all the while she digs her nails into his back, holding on for dear life while he pushes into her and she meets him thrust for thrust. “Honestly the most gorgeous woman I have ever known.”

 

“You too,” she moans, knowing the she should have said more, that she should have her own words of affection. Maybe that she should have clarified that he’s the most stunning man she’s ever known. But he doesn’t say anything else, just chuckles against her ear and continues to press his lips against her neck and her jaw.

 

She’s gone the moment his thumb finds her clit, rubbing fast and hard circles where they’re joined, and her orgasm overwhelms her in the same way that Killian does. It’s burning and blazing, and her nails dig into his flesh so harshly that she’s pretty sure she’s going to leave a mark. He keeps fucking her, his thrusts almost speeding up now, but she doesn’t care as her thighs tremble and her heart beats quickly within her.

 

Killian follows soon behind her, the speed of his movements slowing and becoming erratic until she can feel him pulsing within her all the while he whispers her name over and over and over again.

 

This is bliss.

 

He sinks down her body, lowering his head against her chest, right over her heart, and she reaches up to brush his hair back, sweat beading at his forehead. She wonders how much she’s sweating. It has to be a lot.

 

“You are magnificent, Swan. Truly.”

 

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

He looks up at her and smiles, looking boyish when minutes ago he looked as if he could devour her for hours upon hours. “I’m fucking awesome, love.”

 

“Oh my God,” she groans, laughter bubbling with her chest all the while Killian finally pulls out of her with a groan and a hiss, immediately getting up off the bed to dispose of the condom. “I take it back. I take it all back.”

 

“Oh no, you’ve said it, and now I can remember it forever. Besides,” he growls, stepping back over to her and teasing her by keeping his lips just above hers, “I think it works in both of our favors that I have such sexual… _prowess_.”

 

He’s ridiculous, and she doesn’t take back a single thought she said about him. She meant them all.

 

* * *

 

 It’s later that morning, probably around midmorning if the way the light is shining through her curtains is any indication, that they’re still in bed, not having bothered to get out to do more than pull on some clothes. It’s Saturday, and Killian leaves early Monday morning. She has no idea where the hell the past two weeks have gone. She swears she was just sitting in her bathroom and waiting for him to get here, and now it’s almost time for him to leave.

 

How?

 

How is this possible?

 

The first week was full of exploring Boston, going out to eat and letting him see where it is she lives her life like she got to see with Killian when she was visiting him. She’s pretty sure that him meeting her friends last week went well, that he got the A on the imaginary report card they joked about. She knows that he felt awkward, tense, and that David and Victor didn’t really help the situation, but she thinks, or hopes at least, that things got better toward the end. They all just need more time together, but she’s not exactly sure how they’re going to make that happen.

 

She barely gets enough time with Killian as it is.

 

Realistically, she knew that this long distance thing would be hard, and while she doesn’t think it’s the worst thing in the world, she thinks these two weeks have spoiled her, especially since they probably can’t do it again for awhile. It’s just going to be weekends and brief visits, maybe Killian showing up in the middle of the week when he can. But they both have lives outside of each other. They can’t just stop everything else to make the trip.

 

She wishes she could.

 

But now really isn’t the time that she should be thinking about this. She’s pretty much had him to herself for the past twelve days, especially this past week, and she can miss him when he’s gone.

 

So why does she miss him now?

 

“Darling,” Killian whispers, dragging his finger against her skin, tracing a line in the concave of her breasts while his foot tucks itself in between her calves, his hair tickling the smoothness of her skin, “have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

 

“Obviously,” she lies, trying to figure out what he’s been talking about. She thinks it might have been about Aiden. “But if you wanted to repeat it all, I wouldn’t hate that.”

 

He laughs before leaning down and kissing her shoulder, nipping at her skin the slightest bit. “I was asking if you wanted to go out and get something to eat for lunch.”

 

Okay, so that was not at all about Aiden.

 

“No,” she groans, flipping over and crawling up over him so that her entire body lines up with his, knowing he won’t care if she presses her weight down on him. “I don’t want to get out of bed.”

 

“We haven’t gotten out of bed since about six yesterday evening.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Killian chuckles again, his eyes crinkling with his smile, before his hand starts rubbing up and down her side, gentle caresses that soothe her. She’s not above thinking that he’s about to tickle her, which she absolutely hates. But then he’s pulling her left wrist up to his lips and placing a lingering kiss there, his scruff brushing against her palm.

 

“Why do you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“You kiss the dot on my wrist.”

 

He shrugs as much as he can with her on top of her, his lips twitching up on one side before he grabs her wrist and kisses it again. “I like it?”

 

“That’s a weird part of me to like.”

 

“First of all, I’m a fan of every part of you, Emma. Secondly, it makes me think of our first night _together_   when you told me the story of your almost tattoo. And mostly, it’s because your eyes flutter closed every time I do it, and you get this beautiful little smile on your face.”

 

He kisses her skin against almost as if to prove a point, and her eyes do flutter closed. She’s not sure if she smiles every time, but she must smile enough for him to notice. And she’s not exactly sure when he started doing this, but it doesn’t matter. Now she knows for sure and now she knows why. She hopes that she remembers this, remembers the words he said and the way they make her feel like she’s not fully grounded.

 

She honestly feels a little drunk, even though she knows there’s absolutely no alcohol in her system.

 

“I,” she begins, the next two words on the tip of her tongue as Killian smiles up at her, but she can’t say them. Not yet. “Thank you,” she says instead, trying to ignore the small flash of disappointment in Killian’s eyes.

 

“For what, love?”

 

“Just for…for being you, for all of your little tendencies. For being a fan of me.”

 

“Likely your biggest, though I think your friends may argue with me about that one.”

 

“Oh most definitely they will,” she says, seeing that he’s giving her an out to talk about something she’s more comfortable talking about. “But I think you could put up a pretty good fight.”

 

“Well, I am much stronger than any of them. And Mary Margaret is pregnant, so really, we’ll have to wait until she has the lad for it to be a real competition.”

 

“That’s a sensible plan you have there.”

 

“Aye, that’s me. Always the sensible one.” He pokes his head up and quickly slants his lips over hers, once, twice, three times, all the while his hand continues to move up and down her side. She wishes every Saturday was like today. “Speaking of that, as sensible as I am, we haven’t eaten today, and I’m absolutely starved.”  
  


“I think I have some Skittles in the drawer.”

 

“I know you do, but I was thinking we get out of bed, go to the kitchen, make something to eat.”

 

“That requires too much effort.”

 

“Fine,” he groans, letting his arms fall against the mattress, “I’ll just perish right here. Liam knows what to do with my remains.”

 

“Oh gross.” She immediately rolls off of him, likely crushing a bicep in the process, before sitting up on the mattress and tucking her legs up underneath her. “That was so morbid.”

 

“It got you to move, didn’t it?”

 

She sticks out her tongue while he gets out of bed, pulling up his sweatpants enough that they’re not hanging as low as they usually do, which is a pity. Before she can even say anything else he’s quickly moving out of the room and out her sight, and she swears that he put a little bit of sway in his hips for her.

 

The weirdo.

 

Groaning, she gets out of bed, pulling her t-shirt down and her shorts up, and follows him, knowing that he’s right. Her stomach has been growling for over an hour again, and as much as she doesn’t want to move, food sounds really damn good.

 

“You have no food.”

 

“What?” she asks, practically skidding to a stop the moment she walks into her kitchen, where Killian’s got all of her cabinets open. “I just went shopping. How do I not have food?”

 

“Because you went shopping two weeks ago, and two people have been living here instead of just the one.”

 

“Let’s just get delivery.”

  
  
“You need to go shopping, Swan.”

 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go shopping on Monday after work.”

 

“No, no you won’t. You say you will, and then you’ll get off of work and not feel like it. Let’s go now.”

 

“First you want to get out of bed, and now you want to leave the apartment. You’re killing me, KJ.”

 

He rolls his eyes, stepping over to her and placing his hands on her hips, giving her the most innocent smile in the world. He’s obviously up to no good. “Darling, let’s go get food, have you all prepared until you get paid again, and then I promise, we will not leave your bed until we absolutely cannot stay there any longer. Yeah?”

 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

After they get dressed, or really after Killian just puts on a shirt, they load up into her car and go to the supermarket she likes to go to. She gets her usual staples, milk, eggs, cereal, and a couple of frozen meals (maybe she adds in some fruit and vegetables). But Killian keeps adding things to her cart (and he most definitely got her a cart instead of just letting her use a basket) that she doesn’t know what the hell she’s going to do with or how she’s going to eat all on her own. That’s the thing about living alone. You make tacos on Sunday, and you’re eating tacos every night for dinner.

 

But she lets him, figuring he’s got some kind of purpose to this madness. Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes he just does weird things.

 

Honestly, he might just think he’s shopping for himself.

 

They’re just about to check out, pushing the cart toward the cashiers when she sees the bakery section and gets an idea. She grabs Killian’s hand, tugging him with her while he rolls the cart.

 

“What are we doing, love?”

 

“I’ve never asked. What’s your favorite kind of cake?”

 

He hums, closing his eyes for a moment and planting his feet on the ground. “It’s this thing my mum used to make with pineapple and angel food cake. I don’t know what else was in it off the top of my head. I’d have to look at the recipe.”

 

She smiles to herself before taking the steps over to him and pressing up on her toes so that she can quickly kiss him, hopefully letting him know how much she appreciates him telling her about that, among all of the other things. “Okay, new question. What’s your favorite cake that I can buy you in this bakery?”

 

“Why are you buying me a cake?”

 

“Because if I can’t celebrate your birthday with you on your birthday, we’re going to do it here. So pick out a cake, and I’m going to go get you some candles okay?”

 

“Love, we don’t have to do that.”

 

“Nope, we’re doing it.”

 

She walks away before he can argue with her again, leaving him in the bakery section while she scopes out the candles. They’re pretty easy to find, and she picks out some of the number ones, finding two threes, before heading back to the bakery where Killian is placing a cake into the cart.

 

“What is it, KJ?”

 

“A raspberry lemonade cake.”

 

“So you like fruit cakes,” she comments, committing that to memory. “I’ll remember that.”

 

“And you like any and all cakes, yeah?”

 

“Damn right.”

 

They checkout, Killian sneakily sliding his card in the scanner before she can, but that doesn’t mean she can’t put cash in his wallet later. At least for the cake. He shouldn’t have to pay for his own birthday cake. He can pay for all of the random groceries he bought.

 

Those are explained to her when they get back to her apartment and Killian starts writing out recipes, sticking them onto the ingredients that correspond. He tells her she doesn’t have to cook any, not if she doesn’t want to, but apparently he figured that she’s always talking about how she eats the same thing for lunch every day so he’d leave some suggestions for food he knows she likes. It’s a weirdly intimate gesture, and she appreciates it.

 

A lot.

 

It means she’s going to have to cook, but she appreciates it.

 

“So are we going to eat actual food, or can we just eat cake? Because I feel like your cake has fruit in it, so it counts as a well balanced meal.”

 

“Your logic never ceases to astound me.”

 

“I get that a lot. So,” she prods, poking him in stomach, “cake?”

 

“Aye,” he laughs, “we can do cake.”

 

So they eat cake. She sticks the candles in the icing despite his protests and lets him blow out the fire. She doesn’t sing. That would be awkward and weird. Honestly it’s weird when there’s a large group of people singing, so she thinks they’ll be okay not singing the song.

 

Plus, the cake is fantastic, so there was really no need to put off eating it any longer. If she could justify buying an entire cake for herself, she’d probably buy this cake again.

 

At least she’ll have the leftovers.

 

Yeah, she definitely has to hit the gym every day this week. That is not going to be fun.

 

But after she finishes her piece while Killian is still eating his, she runs into her bedroom, shuffling through her closet to find the packages she stuffed in there while Killian was in the shower last week. She had absolutely no idea what to give him as a gift. She’s always been the worst, never knowing what to do, and having to buy something for the man who could just buy himself what he wants was a terrifying prospect that she did not like.

 

But then she figured he could use a sweat-proof watch for when he goes on his beach runs, and because he’s always talking about how he wishes he could navigate by the stars, she thought a few books about that would be something he likes. She wishes that she could have thought of something sentimental, that she could have gotten something to show him how much she loves him without saying the words, but Mary Margaret reminded her that presents aren’t the end of the world. As long as you don’t buy someone a set of new frying pans because you want a set of new frying pans, you’re all good.

 

So this will have to do.

 

“Happy birthday,” she says as she walks back into her kitchen. “Almost. I guess I can get credit as being the first person to tell you.”

 

“Well, that’s what’s important,” he laughs before raising his eyebrow in what she knows is a precursor to a question. “What have you got there, Swan?”

 

“Just some boxes I was going to throw out, unless you want what’s inside.”

 

“Your trash is my treasure.”

 

“You’ve seen my trash. You know that’s not true.”

 

“Let a man dream, love. It is my pre-birthday after all.” She puts the boxes down on the kitchen counter, right next to the partially eaten cake. He swiftly opens the tape, pulling out the books first and reading their covers before flipping through them. “Well, I was thinking that you didn’t actually listen to the words I say, but obviously you do.”

 

“Gee, thanks.”

 

“I kid, Swan. I kid.” He smiles at her then, and she feels that familiar twist in her stomach, the one she’s been feeling almost constantly lately. “But I love these. A lot. I can’t wait to read them.”

 

“Maybe on the plane.”

 

“Yeah, maybe on the plane.” She watches him look down into the box, pulling out the watch with the same rapt fascination. She’s nervous he’s going to hate everything, and he’s looking at her gifts like she’s giving him gold. “For my runs when I’m alone on the beach, yeah? Because I don’t like carrying my phone with me.”

 

“I was thinking mostly because you get so sweaty. I mean, every time we ran this week you were drenched.”

 

He tugs her closer, the sweetest smile still on his face while his eyes brim with affection. She knows that he knows that she sometimes uses humor to deflect, but obviously he’s not going to let her as his hands settle over her hips and he looks down at her.

 

“Thank you, my darling,” Killian sighs, dipping his head and capturing her lips with his. They’re soft and warm as always, but this time they taste like cake. The kiss is sickeningly sweet, but she can’t say she minds. She can’t say she minds the noise he makes either, something in the back of his throat that travels all the way up and makes her smile into the kiss. “I love it all.”

 

“Good. Now I believe you promised that after we ate, we could spend the rest of the day in bed.”

 

“Did I? I don’t recall.”

 

“You did. You definitely did.”

 

* * *

 

She watches him sit on her floor and fold away his clothes, stacking all of the shirts in one pile and his pants in another, his socks already tucked away into his shoes. He’s so meticulous with everything he does, and if she didn’t feel like her heart was breaking, she’d probably smile watching him be totally in his weird, organized element. Instead she pulls her knees against her chest and wraps her arms around her shins, folding in on herself all while Killian hums away, folding a pair of his jeans like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He has to care, right? He has to be sad that he’s leaving.

 

Tears sting at the back of her eyes, and she wipes them away before they even fall. She will not cry. She will not miss him when he’s right in front of her. But she’s dropping him off at the airport in an hour and then going to work right afterward. She’s pretty sure that she’s going to be late, especially with traffic, but she doesn’t have any meetings today. She can just stay late and finish everything.

 

It’ll be good. It’s not like she’ll have much to do after she gets home anyways.

 

_No, Emma_ , she scolds herself, _you are not going to have a meltdown_.

 

“Alright,” Killian sighs, closing his suitcase and zipping it up, the sound more like a screech than anything else. “I’m all packed. You want to – Emma, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

 

“Because your eyes are watery, love, and a little puffy. What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.”

  
  
“Emma.”

 

“It’s stupid.”

 

“We’ve talked about this, love. Your feelings aren’t stupid. Ever.”

 

“Yeah, but…” Killian shakes his head back and forth, effectively making her close her mouth. She groans, knowing that she should just tell him the truth anyways. He’s going to get it out of her. “I don’t want you to go.”

 

“See,” he sighs, sitting down on the mattress and rubbing his hands up and down her biceps, squeezing at the end, “that’s not stupid. Not at all.”

 

“Why don’t you seem upset?”

 

She probably shouldn’t have blurted that out, but if he wants her to be truthful, she’s going to be truthful. For a moment she misses the days where she was alone, where if she didn’t want to talk about how she felt, she didn’t have to. There was no one there asking on a regular basis. But life is better with people who care about you. Sometimes it hurts like hell, but it’s better.

 

“Darling, I am upset. I don’t like leaving any more than you do, but I have to. I also know that you’re flying out in two weeks to stay the weekend. That’s not long in the grand scheme of things. Think about how quickly these two weeks have passed.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’ve been exhaustingly slow.”

 

“Hush,” he teases, dipping his head and capturing her lips in a kiss that she feels down to her toes. “Swan, we’re good, aye? Isn’t that what you said to me last time we did this?”

 

“Possibly. I don’t really remember. I don’t have the superhuman memory that you have.”

 

“I think it was along those lines.” He lets go of her arms and pats her knee, standing from the mattress. “Let’s go ahead and go, yeah? There’s bound to be traffic.”

 

There is. And it takes forever to get to the airport. Like, maybe longer than forever, and if that’s how it’s going to feel to be separated again, she’s not sure if Killian’s words of comfort actually worked. But she’s a grown woman. She can do this. She can miss him and not feel pathetic about it…hopefully. She’s entitled to feel what she feels. And maybe it really won’t be that bad. Maybe it really will pass by quickly, and she’ll be back at this airport and loading into an uncomfortable seat on her way to California.

 

And she’s got plenty to do here. She’s got work and her friends, and she’s definitely going to start going to the gym every day, her occasional running with Killian nice but not quite the same. And she can definitely sit in her apartment in her sweatpants without washing her hair for, like, three days. And she can let the shaving go a bit. So there are positives, she realizes.

 

There always are, she reminds herself, repeating the words she’s told herself since she was a kid, even if this is far less serious than what she went through then.

 

“Do you want to do the drop off zone or hourly parking?”

 

“Drop off,” Killian answers, pointing over to the line in parking. “You’ve got work, and that’ll make you even later.”

 

He’s right, so she pulls up to the drop off zone, putting her bug in park and letting it idle all the while Killian unbuckles his seatbelt and starts collecting his belongings.

 

“Well, okay then, love,” he begins, a forced smile on his face, “I guess I’ve got to go now.”

 

He leans over the center console, and she leans with him, their lips finding each other while her hands card into his hair and his hold onto her waist, pretty much tugging her over the console so that she’s half in his lap. It’s every kind of inappropriate for where they are, but she doesn’t care, especially with the way that Killian’s tongue is tracing the seam of her lips, his teeth nibbling the slightest bit, just enough to tease, just enough to make her want more.

 

She has to pull back to breathe, not able to hold on anymore, and before he can pull back from her, their foreheads still pressed together, she can can’t stop the words that roll off of her tongue more easily than they ever had before.

 

“I love you.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

“I love you.”

 

For a moment, he’s not sure that he actually heard the words she said, the planes flying overhead and the sound of a car beeping behind them drowning her voice out, but the more he thinks about it, the clearer they become.

 

_She loves him._

  
  
Emma loves him.

 

He’s loved her for weeks, months even, and he knew that she cared for him, hoped that she’d love him one day too, but he never would have imagined her telling him now, telling him this soon. He never would have imagined her telling him when he’s pretty sure she’s about to get a ticket for him not getting out of the car quickly enough. That’s going to be quite a fine.

 

But then again, Emma’s never done anything conventionally, and he thinks maybe this makes more sense than any other way she possibly could have told him.

 

She loves him.

 

Bloody hell, he loves her.

 

Before he even says the words back, he’s cupping her cheeks and pulling her toward him, feeling the soft warmth of her lips on his and hoping that he never has to let go. But then there’s another blare of the horn, and he pulls back, quickly slanting his lips over hers once, twice, three times, until he can’t anymore, until he knows that he has to go.

 

“I love you, Emma,” he speaks against her lips, staring directly into the depths of her eyes and hoping that she understands just how much he means the words. “I love you so damn much.”

 

“Yeah?” she smiles, her lips quickly brushing his with the movement.

 

“Absolutely. I don’t – bloody hell,” he groans when there’s a knock at the window, wishing for all of the world that he didn’t have to leave right now, wishing he could stay here. “I love you. I’m so, so sorry that I have to go. I’ll call you when I land okay? We’ll talk. I promise.”

 

“Okay, okay,” she sighs, nodding her head against his and pulling him closer for one last long, lingering kiss. “I love you.”

 

There’s another knock at the door, an airport attendant standing at the window with her lips stretched into a straight line, and he rolls his eyes, smiling at Emma before letting her go and opening the door.

 

“Sir, you can’t stay here – ”

 

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Let me get my stuff, and we’ll get out of everyone’s way.” He reaches into the backseat, grabbing his suitcase and pulling it out before waving to Emma, not really sure what else he can do to say goodbye at this point. He doesn’t want to say goodbye. “Bye, my love.”

 

“Bye, KJ.”

 

She gives him a small wave, likely matching the meekness of her smile, before he’s closing the door and she’s putting the bug in drive, looking behind her to make sure the road is clear so that she’s driving off into traffic, the yellow disappearing from sight quickly all the while he knows that he absolutely cannot be standing on this sidewalk when he needs to go through security.

 

Bloody hell. Emma loves him.

 

And he has to leave.

 

* * *

 

The flight feels like one of the longest of his life, but for the first three hours of it, he does absolutely nothing but sit in his seat messing with the watch Emma gave him on Saturday. He could tell she was nervous about her gifts, like she was setting herself up to have to live up to some kind of expectation, but he didn’t expect anything of her, not when it came to something as simple a birthday gift. Her company and the impromptu cake were enough. But she’s gotten him this watch, one that he can wear while he’s working out without worrying about the sweat, as well as a few books she’d found about navigating by the stars. He mentioned it one night a few weeks ago, and she must have done some research into them. He plans on reading them sometime this weekend. The weather is supposed to be nice. He might take the Jolly out and relax. He hasn’t been back on it since he took Emma out and she teased him about the name.

 

She’d also told him about her past the night, more than just the foster homes, and he’d shared with her the same things that make him feel vulnerable, that still haunt him today.

 

They’ll have to go out again sometime this summer and have conversations that are a little less serious.

 

Hopefully she’ll take some of her vacation days before her work quarter is up, and she’ll get to come for more than a weekend. Or maybe she’ll take some, and he can fly back to Boston and not have to deal with her being at work. They tried to talk out their schedules, but it’s difficult to plan in advance when she doesn’t know when is the best time for her to take time off, and he’s still waiting on confirmation of when he has press obligations for Highland Waters or meetings.

 

Maybe Emma was right this morning. Maybe he should have been freaking out about how they’re going to do this, but he can’t get into the headspace of this long-distance thing being too hard. He just can’t. So he tried not to let Emma. He tried not let her become negative or freak out when they have this good thing going for them. They absolutely have to have this.

 

But bloody hell, all he wants right now is for this plane to turn around so he can tell her he loves her while making love to her. That’s simply not possible.

 

He wishes it was.

 

He eventually gets it together, opening up his laptop and pulling up the email Robin sent him with the information on the Highland Waters reshoots. He’s got to be back at the studio at four, so he’ll have just enough time to go home and shower and make sure that his house is still in place before driving to the studio. From the email, he’s pretty sure they’re reshooting more than one scene, his script on the lengthy side, and he’s got to get his hair and makeup done since his face is supposed to be covered in stitches here.

 

Bloody production issues.

 

The flight does eventually land, and he grabs his bag out of the overhead bin before shuffling off the plane and out into the crowds of LAX. He immediately pulls out his phone, pressing down on Emma’s contact name, but she doesn’t answer and it goes to her voicemail, the message he’s familiar with playing in his ear. When he checks the time, he sees that it’s four back in Boston. She’s probably just busy with work.

 

_Emma: In a meeting. I’ll call you later._

_Emma: Your flight okay?_

_Killian: It was fine. Pay attention to your meeting, love._

So he stuffs his phone back in his pocket and heads out the exit to his car, pulling on his sunglasses and covering his face with his hand when he passes the exit, trying to avoid the photographers that are always there whenever he lands. He wonders if they ever go home, if they ever leave this place, but he really doesn’t care, ignoring the shouts and rushing through so that he can be in his car and be away from it all. He loves his job, loves that he gets to do what he does for a living, loves that he gets to be someone else for a little while, but he hates the fact that it means people think they have a right to his private life.

 

But if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s that he doesn’t like to let the media define how he lives too much of his life. Yes, he’s careful about where he goes, but he’s not going to hide away, not going to stay locked away like he’s in some tower. That’s part of the reason he went ahead and posted the picture of Emma on Instagram. For one, he wanted to. He doesn’t use it too often, not more than the occasional update, but if he’s going to have to share parts of his life with the world, he can at least choose what he wants to share.

 

And he can share it before other people do and he’s suddenly being bombarded with questions and emails, Robin having to deal with the headache that is the calls he always gets whenever Killian is seen with a different woman. God, last year he went out to eat with Elsa when she pregnant, and that was a disaster. Elsa found it hysterical, but he had to explain that he was with his brother’s wife…who was pregnant with Liam’s child.

 

_(“Killian Jones seen with pregnant girlfriend. Will he acknowledge his love child?”)_

 

Yeah, Rob is definitely going to kill him when he sees him. He’s sure he’s been getting hell from the past two weeks.

 

When he gets home, the house is stuffy, dust having collected on some of the shelves, and he shakes his head think of how Will must have literally just come in and watered his plants instead of cleaning anything up. He should have just hired someone. But what’s done is done, and after dusting the shelves and wiping them down, making sure that all of his plants are alive and not wilting, he hurries upstairs to take a shower, letting the water wash away both the feel of the plane and the smell of Emma’s perfume that’s been on the collar of his shirt this entire time.

 

It’s ridiculous how much he misses her when it’s only been eight or so hours, but he has to stuff it down and get ready to go back to work.

 

Before he forgets, he texts both Elsa and Liam that he’s home, making sure not to let them think he died in a plane crash like he’d apparently done when he landed in Boston. He’s not going to let that happen again.

 

* * *

 

When he walks into the hair and makeup trailer, this one not nearly as busy and crowded as it was when the show was filming, he immediately settles down into the chair, letting Kendall do her magic on his face to make him look like he was just beaten up a few days ago. He thanks her when he’s finished before quickly changing into the wardrobe they’ve left for him and walking across the lot to the studio where about half of the crew is ambling around getting ready.

 

“Hello, love,” he smiles when he sees his costar Isabelle, accepting her hug before quickly pulling back. “I kind of figured I wouldn’t have to see you again until press.”

 

“Right?” she laughs, rolling her eyes before fixing the loose strands of her blonde hair that are falling from her bun. “I figured we wouldn’t have reshoots after, you know, the entire extra week of reshoots. But that’s showbiz, doll.”

 

He chuckles. Her fake old Hollywood accident is far too accurate. “How was your time with your sister?”

 

“Good, good,” she sighs, looking down at her nails and flicking something off of her dress. “I basically just crashed in her guest room and ate all of her food.” Isabella nudges his shoulder, a teasing smile on her face, and he knows what’s coming before she even speaks. “Did you have fun with your _girlfriend_?”

 

He feels the blush rise on his cheeks before he shakes his head and reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “Aye, though our time together sounds oddly similar to yours with your sister, which only worries me a tad.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m guessing you guys had a bit more fun than we did. You should bring her to the premiere event. I hate that I missed her when she came to visit set.”

 

“I’ll have to ask if she can make it or not. We’ve kind of got to pick and choose our dates because of her work. But I’ll see if I can convince her to come out here for it.”

  
  
“Good.”

 

They’re called to set then, and it only takes a few hours to get everything reshot, the lights continuously adjusted so that the scenes don’t get messed up again. It’s like slipping back into a rhythm he’s been used to for years, letting his own personality fall away so that he can be someone else, if only for a moment. But this character, Ezra, is one he relates to on a personal level. Things with him are complicated and far from straight forward, even if they’ve calmed in recent months. Frankly, Ezra’s been through hell, but he’s working his way out on the other side. If it’s motivated by love, well, then he sees nothing wrong with that.

 

He gets to go home around ten, loading up in his car and driving back to his house, actually getting to relax and sit down on his bed without having anywhere to go…except for his meeting in the morning. Bloody hell, he’s got to prepare for the contract negotiations tomorrow, but honestly, his body is still functioning in the eastern time zone so it’s past one in the morning.

 

Shit. He didn’t get to call Emma.

 

He didn’t even check his phone. He didn’t have it with him while he was filming, and when he finished, he grabbed his belongings and walked straight off of the lot so he could head home. How the hell could he have forgotten?

 

_Emma: Are you free to talk?_

 

_Emma: I wish TSA would let you bring food with you because I went to the gym and then came home and kept eating your cake since it’s just sitting in my fridge._

_Emma: I’m exhausted, so I’m going to go to bed. Hope filming is going well. xx_

_Killian: I’m sorry I missed you. Have a good day at work tomorrow! xx_

He feels awful, but this is his life, their life. There are going to be times when they miss each other because of their jobs, but things will go back to normal tomorrow. He’s only busy in the morning, so they should be able to talk. This morning feels like it was days ago when it was really only hours, so he has to remind himself of that. They’ve talked today. They’ve seen each other today. He’s not falling behind.

 

* * *

 

“So this is what we’re willing to offer you,” John tells him, sliding a piece of paper over the conference table so he and Robin can look at it. “We have some room for negotiation on your proceeds from the gross, since we know that’s a selling point for you.”

 

“Bloody hell,” Robin mutters underneath his breath, quiet enough for only Killian to hear.

 

“What?”

 

Robin points to the number listed at the bottom of the page, but really all Killian can see is the filming location of Switzerland and the four months that he’ll be there. That’s exactly why he didn’t want to take this. It’s a good script, a good film, but it’s not what he wants, not right now.

 

“You have to take this, mate.”

 

He quickly glances over at John and all of the other executives in the room. They’re all watching he and Robin like all of them are hawks and the two of them are prey. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the way that his spine shivers, but mostly he knows that he just can’t take this. He’s known he couldn’t for a while, but it was never a flat out no. It was always a maybe.

 

It’s a no now.

 

“I can’t, Rob. I can’t leave my home for that long.”

 

“You’ve done it before.”

  
  
“Aye, but,” he looks over at all of the people watching them, “can you all excuse us for a minute?”

 

Every single one of them nods before getting up and leaving the room, like a mass exodus of gray suits and red ties. He idly wonders if that’s the uniform here or if they all simply dress the same.

 

“So you really, actually don’t want to take this?” Robin asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, the wheels of the chair making him roll back the slightest bit. “You love the script, it’s good money, and I’m sorry, but if I could live in Switzerland for four months, I’d take that any day of the week.”

 

“Roland has school, Rob. You couldn’t just up and leave.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you. You could go. You don’t have a kid.”

 

“I have a life, though. Liam, Elsa, Aiden. They’re all here. And Emma. It’s already complicated enough just being on the opposite side of the country. What the hell would it be like if I was in an entirely different country?”

 

“Ah,” Robin sighs, his lips ticking up into the smallest of smiles. “I don’t know why I didn’t think about the fact that you’re currently smitten.”

 

“Why do you sound like you’re out of the fifties?”

 

“Because I’m a time traveler. Obviously.” He rolls his eyes at Robin’s teasing before looking down and checking his watch, seeing how much time has passed. “Seriously, though. I’m sure Emma would support you in this.”

 

“I know she would support me in this, but I’d be leaving at the end of October. I’d miss her birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, pretty much every major holiday in the year. Not to mention how I’d miss every day, all of the small moments. I just,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair before covering his eyes with his hands and rubbing the heels into his cheeks, “I can’t do it, Rob. I can’t leave her like that.”

 

“I hate to say it, but what if you break up? You’ll have missed this opportunity.”

 

“Honestly, if we break up, the absolute last thing I’m going to be thinking about is how I didn’t film this movie.”

 

“So no Yours Truly?”

 

“No Yours Truly. We’ll have to look for projects here, okay?”

  
  
“Whatever you want.” Robin twists in his chair to look outside the glass windows where everyone is still staring. “You want to talk about the gift Roland is making you for your birthday and make them sweat it out a little bit?”

 

He smiles. “Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

“Happy birthday,” Emma hums into the phone right after he answers her call, his eyes still adjusting to the sunlight streaming through his curtains. He’d fallen asleep late last night after going for a late-night run, and he didn’t set an alarm, figuring he didn’t have any pressing matter to wake up for anyway.

 

“Thank you,” he yawns, reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes even as he slides down the mattress and tugs his comforter up his body.

 

“Did you seriously just wake up?”

 

“No,” he lies even though he knows she won’t believe him.

 

“Liar. You sound exactly like you do when you wake up. And the yawn didn’t help.”

 

“Yeah, well, my sleep schedule is all over the place. I’m hoping to get it back to normal soon. Are you at lunch?”

 

“I am eating lunch, yeah,” she answers, the sound of a container opening in the background. “I made the lemon pepper chicken you left the recipe for, and I’m hiding out from Kathryn in my office so I didn’t go to the breakroom or my spot outside.”

 

“Why are you hiding out from Kathryn, love?”

 

“She’s just got a stick up her ass today. Nothing anyone does is good enough, and since she hates me for some reason, I always get the little snide comments that are rude but just vague enough that she’s technically not doing anything wrong.”

 

“Sneaky.”

 

“Exactly,” she sighs, humming into the phone again. “This is good, by the way. I won’t be surprised if I get salmonella, but it’s good.”

 

“You cannot possibly be that bad at cooking.”

 

“Try me.”

 

“I’d rather not,” he laughs, rolling over in bed and resting on his side while he puts her on speaker so he can reply to some of the texts that are coming in. “What are you doing today besides avoiding people with sticks up their arse and hopefully avoiding salmonella?”

 

“Work, the gym, and then I’m going to have an exciting night doing laundry.”

 

“Are you now a member of the Jersey Shore?”

 

“I’m pretty sure their phrase had tanning in there. And definitely not work. What about you? How does one ring in being thirty-three?”

 

“With his family, his manager and his son, and everyone’s favorite friend Will. I think the only thing about the plans that’s changed is that Anna’s husband isn’t coming.”

  
  
“Why?”

 

“His project at work is running late or something. But he doesn’t talk much anyways. Between Anna and Elsa being together, none of us really get a word in.”

  
  
“Well, I bet you guys will have a good time. When are you heading over there?”

 

“Around noon. Liam’s at work, but I’m going to spend the day with El and Aiden. And Anna, though I’ve been told I’m not allowed to ask about the cake she’s making.”

 

“Ooh, mystery and intrigue.”

 

“Aye, I guess you could call it that.”

 

“Well,” Emma begins, dragging out the word, “keep me updated, okay? I mean, I don’t need a play by play of every word said. That would be ridiculous.”

  
  
“Completely,” he laughs.

 

“But I just want to know that you have a good day, KJ. Or at least that it’s more exciting than me doing laundry will be.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Swan. Laundry is the absolutely best way to spend a night.”

 

She snickers on the other end of the line, the sound basically music to his ears, and it’s the most awake he’s been for this entire conversation, having given up on responding to texts just to focus on Emma. The line goes silent, and he’s so tempted to tell her that he loves her. But they haven’t said the words since he was in Boston two days ago, so honestly, he’s not sure what to do. It wasn’t just a one-time thing, a slip of the tongue. She told him she loved him twice, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm her.

 

It’s that thought that makes him chuckle under his breath. Relationships are ridiculous sometimes. They’re simple and yet entirely complex, and he wonders just how much time people spend wondering what to say and what not to say.

 

“What are you laughing at?”

 

“Us.”

 

“Explain?” Emma asks, her voice incredulous.

 

“It’s nothing. It’s nothing, I promise. I just…I love you is all.”

 

Her breath hitches, but he doesn’t worry about having pushed things too far. “I love you, too. I don’t understand what you’re laughing at, but I love you.”

 

He can’t even begin to describe how relieved he is to hear the words. “Good. I’ll try to explain all of my craziness later.”  
  


 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

After he lets Emma go, her lunch hour ending so that she has to go to work, he goes about his normal day…or at least what he thinks he remembers his normal days being. It’s been over four months since he hasn’t been working, so it’s odd for him to leisurely get out of bed and shower, spending however much time he wants letting the warm water hit his skin as he scrubs his hair and washes his body. So he takes his time trimming his scruff and brushing his teeth, heading downstairs in only a robe as he makes himself breakfast. He needs to go grocery shopping or at least order them online to be delivered at some point.

 

But he’s got enough to make himself an omelet and some coffee, enjoying his breakfast on the back porch so that he can watch the waves roll in as some of his neighbors walk along the shoreline. All of the chill of the spring is fading as May begins, but there’s still a pleasurable ocean breeze blowing up to him, the smell of salt invading his senses. He’s missed this, missed his home, and as much as he truly did not want to leave Boston, he missed home.

 

If there were a way to combine his home and Emma’s he would, but it’s far too soon to be thinking about any of that.

 

Right?

 

Shaking himself out of that thought, he finishes his breakfast and makes his way back inside to get dressed to head over to Elsa’s. He hasn’t seen her in a few weeks, Anna in even longer, so he really should spend as much time with them as he can. Maybe he’ll take them out to eat lunch tomorrow as well.

 

When he pulls up to their house, he lets himself in, quietly shutting the side door behind him. The first thing he hears is Anna’s voice, the high volume of it probably makes its way everywhere. Seriously, the girl can talk, and she can talk loudly. Not that he minds. He finds her to be a breath of fresh air, someone who exudes positivity all of the time. Seriously, she could be in a burning building and still be talking about how it’s a positive thing.

 

“No, seriously, Els, that actually happened.”

 

“Anna, that just doesn’t seem like a real thing.”

 

“But it is,” Anna groans. He bets she’s rolling her eyes, but he’s currently standing in the archway of the living room with her facing the other way. “I swear to you that a guy called me and asked if I’d be willing to make him a customized costume for some kind of monster where the tail was his…you know.”

 

“You’re an adult who is married. You can say the word.”

 

“His penis, Els. He wanted me to make him a costume that was tailored around his penis. This is why I should just stick to working for TV shows.” He can’t stop himself from snorting, and that’s when two heads quickly turn his way, the both of them smiling after the shock wears off. “Jones,” Anna squeaks, scrambling up from the couch and running toward him, wrapping him up in a hug that pushes him back from the impact, “happy birthday, dude.”

 

“Thank you, love,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing tightly before letting go. “So tell me where I can get whatever this bloke was requesting. I think I’d like one of those.”

 

“Gross,” Elsa complains, sticking her tongue out for a moment, “that is…that is not something I ever want to imagine about you.”

 

“We’ve talked about this, Elsa. If I have to live with the knowledge that you’ve slept and procreated with my brother, you sometimes have to live with the unfortunate knowledge that I am, indeed, a man.”

 

“Yeah, whatever. Happy birthday, Killian.” She hugs him, squeezing far less tightly than her sister did. “Nice to see you again. I feel like it’s been forever.”

 

“Wait. Where have you been? I thought you finished shooting that show?”

 

“Killian is in _loooove_ ,” Elsa teases, and his face immediately goes red. He’s a grown man, thirty-three years old, and he should not be embarrassed by a little teasing from his sister-in-law.

 

Anna’s lips open and close over and over again, her eyes shooting back and forth between he and Elsa. “You’re lying.”

 

“I am not. Killian has a girlfriend.”

 

“No, does he really, Els?” Anna squeals, her voice so high pitched that his eardrums might have burst. “I thought he was taking a vow of monkhood of something.”

 

“I did too,” Elsa tells Anna, and Killian cuts her a glance to shut the hell up, not that it’ll ever work out. He’s feeling pretty called out by his family right now. “He stopped dating altogether, like a year and a half ago, and before that it was always one date, nothing more. So this one is shocking. I want to meet her. I feel like no one has met her and she’s one of those fake Canadian girlfriends or something.”

 

“Hey, you talked to her on the phone!”

 

“But I didn’t see her!”

 

“You commented on my picture!”

 

“Which didn’t show her face.”

 

“That is highly suspicious, Jones.”

 

“It is not,” he huffs, wondering why the hell he’s being so defensive over this when they’re obviously teasing him. “I can promise you she’s real.”

 

“Wait. So you’re really in love, Killian?” Anna asks, her eyes bugging out. He can practically feel the energy radiating off of her. “Why does no one tell me anything? What’s her name? Where’s she from? Is she pretty? Of course she’s pretty. Is she nice? Of course she’s nice. What am I thinking? Why isn’t she here? I feel like your girlfriend should be here. Unless she really isn’t real. Which would be a pretty elaborate thing when I’m sure you could find yourself a real girlfriend.”

 

He chuckles at Anna, her ability to always seem like she’s eaten a box of cupcakes and be on a sugar high uncanny. How she and Elsa are genetically related is sometimes a mystery to him.

 

“Calm down, Anna,” he laughs, making his way into the living room and sitting down on the couch, stretching out his legs while they join him. “Her name is Emma. She’s bloody beautiful and just as kind. And she’s not here because she lives in Boston, and I told her not to spend money or time on a ticket when I just left her place on Monday morning, though I do wish I hadn’t said those words right about now.”

 

“Can’t you just pay for her a plane ticket to spend the weekend?”

 

“Aye, but she doesn’t want me to, which I get. She likes to have her say and be financially independent, but maybe one day I’ll convince her to let me buy her a ticket. It might have to be in the cargo hold, but whatever works. And she’s coming next weekend, too.”

 

“Well, I want you to tell me all about her since no one ever tells me anything.” She glances at Elsa there who just shrugs. “And next time she comes for, like, more than a day because I know you guys will just use that to have sex, let me know and I’ll fly in.”

 

His face heats again. The woman won’t say the word penis, but she’ll easily tell him that she knows that he’s just going to have sex with his girlfriend when she visits. She’s not wrong, but it seems like a bit of an odd discrepancy for her. Maybe talking about the man’s penis costume (or would it be a cock frock?) has freed up her speech.

 

“Maybe. Maybe not. I think we may have to ease her into you, Anna.”

 

“Hey,” Anna groans, reaching over and slapping his shoulder, “I am very friendly.”

  
  
“Too friendly sometimes,” Elsa laughs. “But yeah, I want to meet her. You say she’s coming next weekend?”

 

“Yeah, but we really only get Saturday. She won’t get in until around eleven, and she’ll be exhausted with the time change. And then she’ll have to leave early Sunday afternoon. The bloody flight and airport time is awful. But I can ask if she wants to meet you and Liam, Elsa.”

 

“Oh shit, I bet she is not going to want to meet Liam.”

 

“Eh,” he groans, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “I’m pretty sure she’s ready to yell at him and have the whole thing be over with.”

 

“Oooh, what happened with Liam? Why does your girlfriend…Emma want to yell at him? I feel like that has to be an interesting story.”

 

“I’ll tell you later because I heard I was going to have lots of good cake.”

 

* * *

 

 “I kid you not,” Liam laughs, his rum sloshing around in its glass while he moves his hands with every word, “when Killian was seven he truly did refuse to wear a shirt.”

 

“This is really not your most embarrassing story, Liam. And shirts are overrated.”

 

“Oh, well, this is because I haven’t gotten to the best part of the story, little brother.”

 

“Younger. Bloody hell. It’s younger.”

 

“Not today it’s not. You’re old now.”

 

“Says the man who is thirty-eight.”

 

“Anyways,” Will says, obviously annoyed, “let’s get on with the story. You guys always talk far too long.”

 

“So Mum and I would always have to trick him into wearing a shirt to school. But one day, Mum gets called to the school because Killian apparently ripped off his shirt and was wearing it around his head as he took his math quiz.”

 

“Oh God,” he groans as he feels his cheeks flush. He remembers that. He wishes he could forget, but he does remember that. “Why do you insist on these stories?”

 

“I could tell everyone about the first time I caught you with a girl.”

 

“And let’s talk about the shirt thing,” he laughs, wishing to change the subject to anything but that. “If I remember correctly, we compromised by letting me wear button downs and only doing a few of the buttons.”

 

“Oi, is that why I’m always stuck staring at your chest hair?”

 

He waggles his eyebrows, reaching down and popping a button open. “Jealous, Will?”

 

“Of the bear on your chest? Absolutely not.”

 

“I think chest hair can be sexy,” Elsa swoons, reaching over and placing her hand on Liam’s chest.

 

The entire room groans, every one of them not wanting to see the way Elsa and Liam are looking at each other, especially since they haven’t even eaten cake yet. Robin was letting Roland run around to get out all of his energy, even though the sugar definitely won’t do anything but hype him up all over again.

 

“Okay, okay,” Elsa sighs, getting up from the couch and wiping down her jeans, “I’m going to go put Aiden to bed. Why don’t you get everyone more drinks, darling? And then we can feed Killian and Roland that cake?”

 

“Finally,” Roland yells from the corner of the room, getting up and running toward the couch so quickly that he topples over the side and lands on Will’s lap. “I have been waiting my entire life for cake.”

 

“Me too, Rol.” Will pats him on the back before pulling him up and resting him on his knee. “We’ve got to sing Happy Birthday to Uncle Killian really loudly, though, okay? Loud enough that he hears you with his old man ears?”

 

“So much for getting treated nicely on my birthday.”

 

Anna pats his knee. “Maybe next year, Jones.”

 

He’s honestly relieved that Anna stopped calling him baby Jones because while she may not have realized it, when she typed it out as BJ, all anyone could think of was blowjob. Ah, to be so innocent and yet not at the same time.

 

In the time that it takes to get his cake out and light the thirty three individual candles (at Anna’s insistence), Elsa’s back downstairs from putting Aiden to bed. So all of his friends and family sing, Roland and Will singing the loudest like the pair that they are, and he blows out his candles before eating cake. Honestly, this is too much for him, all of the birthday celebrations and well wishes. They never had much growing up so these days weren’t big celebrations no matter how much his mum tried, and then the days went away completely when he was in the foster system. But in the past decade, it’s always been big celebrations. Though, lately, he’s toned things down a bit, only celebrating with those closest to him.

 

Maybe he simply feels odd because this isn’t his only birthday celebration this year. He did one with Emma, now this one, and it all feels like a bit much. But he knows that these people love him, so he doesn’t complain or make a fuss. He simply eats his cake (which is his mum’s recipe so Elsa must have helped Anna make it) and opens his presents, thankful that his life has turned out pretty okay.

 

Wonderful. His life is wonderful.

 

“What’d you wish for?” Roland asks, crawling up onto Killian’s knee while he works on his second piece.

 

“If I tell you, my wish doesn’t come true. That’s how you told me it worked, Rol.”

 

“But I want to know.”

 

He hums, chuckling under his breath the slightest bit. Six-year-olds are such fickle creatures. “Okay, but you have to keep it a secret, yeah?”

 

He sticks out his pinkie, twisting it with Roland’s in their secret promise.

 

“I wished to be happy.”

 

“That’s boring. You should have wished for a new car or something.”

 

He laughs as Roland gets up off of his lap and walks away, going to sit with his dad. Before he can even scoop up another piece of cake with his fork, Liam sits down next to him, wrapping his arm around the back of the couch.

 

“That was a lame wish. You definitely should have wished for a new car.”

 

“Oi, my car is fine, and wishing to be happy is a completely respectable wish.”

 

Liam nudges his shoulder while his lips stretch into a smile. “I’m messing with you. It was a very mature thing to say. Though, I’m about, eh, ninety nine percent sure that your wish was for your girlfriend to be here.”

 

“Technically, I didn’t wish for anything. Yeah, I want Emma to be here, but all the while we were singing and cutting the cake, I was thinking about Mum. And you. All of us really and how she’d try to make our birthdays as special as possible.”

  
  
“She was the best,” Liam sighs, resting his head against the back of the couch. “And she’d be damn proud of you.”

 

“You too, Liam. She’d be proud of you for your job, for your family, for raising me.”

 

“Aye, thanks. I just wish she could be here, you know?”

 

“Aiden has her eyes,” he says, thinking of the blue. He and Liam both have blue yes, but they’re light. His mum’s eyes were dark, almost black. They were beautiful. “It’s strange how things like that happen.”

 

“I mean, basic genetics. I feel like you definitely should have learned that at school.”

 

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tease you. After all, what else are brothers for?”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Deep breath in.

 

Deep breath out.

 

It’s what she keeps repeating to herself over and over again as her feet hit against the stair climber. She’s tired, she’s sore, and honestly, she just wants to go home. But she’s also determined to get back into her routine, to get all of her pent-up energy out, and to actually break a sweat doing something other than blow drying her hair.

 

Someone should really figure out how to make blow drying hair a less hot, physical affair. Maybe she’ll do that and become rich.

 

If only she knew anything about science or physics or whatever would be required for that.

 

Doesn’t Dyson make a fancy blow dryer that’s supposed to be like that? She thinks they do, but she also knows that it costs half as much as her rent, which is insane. Also, what the hell are the people who make vacuum cleaners doing making blow dryers?

 

She’s kind of curious. Maybe she should look into that.

 

Or maybe she’s just been here for too long and her body is starting to fall apart. She’s pretty much soaked in sweat, and she knows that she’s going to have to take a shower here instead of waiting until she gets home. That would just be…unsanitary. So she finishes her workout, all of her limbs screaming at her that she should have stopped long ago, and takes a shower in the locker room, washing away absolutely everything from this hell of a week.

 

It's been a hell of a week. Or really a hell of a week and a half.

 

But that’s life. Sometimes work sucks. Sometimes she gets an unexpected or forgotten bill and has to pay it. And sometimes she misses her boyfriend.

 

But the work week is over tomorrow, she’s paid the bill (if not with some moaning and groaning and knowing that she has to be careful with how much she eats out until the next pay day), and she’s got a seven o’clock flight to Los Angeles tomorrow night. So sometimes life feels like it sucks, but at least there are upsides.

 

Mary Margaret is cooking her dinner tonight, so that’s at least one upside.

 

When she pulls up to the Nolan’s house, she gets out of her car and hurries inside while twisting her wet hair up into bun, not caring how bad that is for her hair. It’s weirdly quiet for their house, but she guesses that with Leo already in bed, most of the noise is gone.

 

“Hello,” she calls, peeking into the living and seeing no one. “Marg? David?” She wanders into the kitchen. The food is out on the counter. It looks like they’re having some kind of chicken. It smells good, but she really just wants to know where her friends are. But then she hears it, and she no longer wants to know where they are. “Oh God, that’s disgusting,” she groans, walking back into the living room and further away from the back sitting room where Mary Margaret and David are going pretty hot and heavy.

 

Chicken must really turn pregnant women on.

 

She shudders, a shiver running down her spine while she shakes that thought out of her head. While she knows pretty much everything about Ruby’s sex life, Mary Margaret is pretty quiet on that front, and Emma would like to keep it that way…especially since she now knows that Mary Margaret is not actually quiet.

 

If she hits her head against the wall three times, will she forget?

 

_Emma: Do you have bleach at your house?_

_Killian: Um…yes?_

_Emma: Good._

_Killian: Swan, I know I’m not always the best person, but I wouldn’t think you’re coming to my house to murder me._

_Killian: And then to use my own cleaning products to cover it up. The betrayal._

_Emma: You need to lay off your watching of true crime dramas. It’s putting ideas in your head._

_Emma: Also, why the hell would using your own cleaning products be the betrayal? Wouldn’t the murder be the betrayal?_

_Killian: You know I am very particular about how I keep my house, so my products are all carefully chosen._

_Emma: Because you’re weird._

_Killian: Aye, now why do you need bleach if not to commit this crime of passion?_   
  


_Emma: I’m at MM’s, just heard she and David having sex, and I don’t know what you do to make your hearing go away. I figured bleach worked like it would with sight._

_Killian: I’ll do some research on that before you get here tomorrow._

_Killian: Am I picking you up from the airport?_

 

_Emma: Nah, it’ll be late. I’ll Uber._

 

She hears a door close, hushed voices emanating from across the house, and she’s glad that David and Mary Margaret have finally finished their evening activities. She may never use her key again. At least she didn’t see anything. Then the bleach really would come in handy.

 

She might be the slightest bit dramatic.

 

She’s really tired.

 

“Hello,” she calls out, testing the waters the slightest bit.

 

“Emma?” Mary Margaret asks, stepping into the living room with a smile on her face and her hair still perfectly in place. How? How is her hair still perfectly in place? Actually, she doesn’t want to know. “Oh good, you’re here. Dinner is all ready. One of my student’s moms gave me a new recipe, and I think you’ll like it a lot. Why is your hair wet?”

 

She shrugs. “I went to the gym. I pretty much ate an entire cake by myself last week, so I’m trying to work all of that off.” She gets up from the couch and wraps her arms around Mary Margaret, feeling Marg’s ever growing baby bump pressing up against her stomach. “Let’s eat.”

 

* * *

 

She punches in the code to get in Killian’s gate. If she wasn’t so excited, she’d be dead on her feet. It was a long flight, felt like longer than the last time she took it, and despite the late hour, getting out here took forever. And it was expensive. She probably should have had Killian pick her up, but it’s nearly midnight. He’s usually asleep, especially since just like she’s been trying to get back into exercising, he’s trying to get a normal sleep schedule after basically being all over the places for five months.

 

Yeah, she’s definitely about to wake him up too.

 

Sure enough, once she finally gets inside the house, everything is dark, the only light coming from the living room where Killian is passed out on the couch, his forearm thrown over his eyes while half of his body hangs off and threatens to fall to the floor. The television is still on, something about tornados playing, and she laughs a bit to herself thinking about how he fell asleep watching the weather channel.

 

Weirdo.

 

Quietly, she puts her bag on the ground and takes the few steps over to him, squatting down next to him and running her hand through his hair, brushing it off of his forehead until his eyes slowly flutter open, lashes moving from his cheeks to his brows and back and forth while he blinks the sleep away.

 

“Hey, KJ,” she whispers, continuing to gently run her hands through his hair.

 

“Swan,” he murmurs, his lips forming a small smile while he sits up on his elbows. “Shit, did I fall asleep?”

 

“Yeah, yeah you did.”

 

“I didn’t mean to. I meant to wait up and let you in, but obviously I screwed that up. Sorry, I just…I usually fall asleep far too early, normally right after we get off the phone, and I – ”

 

“Killian?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Shut up and kiss me.”

 

“Well, I do so love when you’re demanding. It really – ”

 

She cuts him up, knowing exactly what he’s going to say and really not needing to hear his cockiness right now when all she wants to do is kiss him, so she moves closer to him and slides her lips over his. It shocks him a bit. She can tell by the way that he doesn’t immediately kiss her back, but it doesn’t take long before his hand is cupping the back of her head and pulling her closer. She missed him, missed this, and she wonders if being reunited will ever not feel this good. It’s like butterflies in her stomach and cloud nine beneath her feet, and if she wasn’t so damn happy, she’d make fun of herself for having thoughts like that.

 

When Killian runs his tongue along the seam of her lips, she opens her mouth for him while she gets off the floor and moves on top of him on the couch, trying to keep their lips from parting the entire time. He’s warm, always so warm, and this is one of her favorite things in the world.

 

Absolutely.

 

“Hi,” she smiles when she pulls back, her lips hovering so close to his that they brush them when she talks.

 

Killian reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ears, keeping it from falling in her face and over his. “Hi, love. I’m sorry that I fell asleep.”

 

“Stop apologizing. That’s ridiculous. But if you want to go upstairs and go to bed, I’d be all for that.”

 

“Darling, I know I’m irresistible, but I’m not sure if either of us are up for the reunion celebration.”

  
  
“Well, I know that you’re definitely not _up_ ,” she giggles, gently rolling her hips into his while she brushes her lips over his cheek, “but don’t be so conceited. I literally want to go to bed to _sleep_. Everything else can wait for the morning.”

  
  
“By everything else you mean breakfast, right?”

 

“Obviously,” she laughs, rolling off of him with about as much grace as someone on crutches doing ballet before standing up and holding out her hands for him to take so she can tug him up. He makes his weight go dead so that she can’t move him at all, and if he’s going to do that, she’s just going to leave him be, dropping his hands and moving to pick up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and making her way upstairs.

 

She’s already washing her face in an attempt to make the smell and feel of airplane vanish by the time she hears Killian make it into his bedroom, flopping down on the bed in a dull thud. She didn’t really get a chance to talk to him today, but whatever he did must have made him absolutely exhausted. Usually he can suffer through it, but he’s down for the count tonight.

 

How she isn’t, she has no idea.

 

When she finishes washing her face and brushing her teeth, she walks back into the bedroom, crawling under the covers while Killian twists and turns until he finally ends up on his back. She doesn’t know why he takes so long to get comfortable when he always ends up in one of the same three positions. But she can’t say much. She takes forever to fall asleep, and she knows that she has to twist and turn all night long from the way that her covers look every single morning.

 

As she settles down in bed, scooting closer to Killian than she really needs to right now, he moves even closer, wrapping his arm around her waist and snaking his hand up her back underneath the hem of her shirt.

  
  
“Did I tell you that I love you yet? That’s another thing I was going to do when you got here. I was going to tell you that I love you without one of us having to leave. That was number one on my list of things to do.”

 

“You had a list?”

 

“That is not the point right now, Swan. The point is that I love you.”

 

There are those stupid butterflies again, making her stomach twist and flutter and her heart beat a quick, steady rhythm within her chest. Yeah, she’s been waiting to tell him that she loves him in person again too. And not when they’re getting yelled at by airport attendants. It’s not exactly the most romantic setting, but sometimes all of those cheesy romantic declarations of love are overrated. She doesn’t need to be in a room full of flowers and candlelight to feel that way. That’s not real. That’s a rare thing.

 

She doesn’t want this to be a rare thing.

 

She absolutely is still in disbelief that she’s in love again. And that it’s this good. She didn’t know it could be like this.

 

“I like this point,” she tells him, tracing his collarbone with her finger before she caresses his cheek. “I love you too.”

 

“Good,” he sighs, briefly kissing her, “now that we have that settled, let’s go to sleep like the elderly couple we are.”

 

“Well, at least you. You’re an entire year older since the last time I saw you.”

 

“Bloody hell, love, just go to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

“We need to go soon.”

 

She groans, rolling over in bed and pulling the comforter up over her shoulders. His fan is rotating ridiculously fast, and while that was nice earlier when her entire body felt like a furnace, it’s not so nice now as sweat dries on her skin and her body cools down. She doesn’t even know how Killian is even thinking about getting up and going right now. He should be exhausted. She’s exhausted.

 

They need coffee.

 

She’d get out of bed for coffee.

 

She’s not really feeling like getting out of bed and getting ready to go over to Liam and Elsa’s house because Killian told them she was coming in this weekend and Elsa insisted that they meet her. Or that Elsa meets her. She’s met Liam in a spectacular fashion. Actually, when she thinks about it, she’s not sure which Jones brother she had a more interesting first meeting with. In totally different ways but still.

 

Elsa is great from what Emma can tell from the few times they’ve exchanged a few words over the phone and from the sweet comments she leaves on any pictures Emma posts online (yeah, Elsa followed her on Instagram, and Emma may have done some light stalking when she followed her back. There are some dang cute baby pictures on there.), and as much as she wants to meet her and Aiden, she’s a bit hesitant to see Liam again. She knows there’s going to be a conversation about how he treated her when they met, and she’s a little bit terrified that it won’t go well, that she and Liam won’t get along after all.

 

She’s over it, has moved on, but she doesn’t want there to be something between them. Liam is the most important person in the world to Killian, and even if he won’t say it, she knows it’s important that she and Liam get along.

 

So they have to clear the air. That’s all.

 

Staying in bed seems like a better option right now, though. She only really gets today with Killian, and staying in bed or in his house is something she’d much rather do. But he met her friends, was absolutely terrified to do it, so the very least she can do is go to lunch at his brother’s house.

 

Besides, she’s heard that Liam is a fantastic cook. Elsa too, but Killian has warned her that she often makes some interesting dishes that they all have to suffer through. That’s pretty much how people most feel about her cooking.

 

Maybe she and Elsa will be kindred cooking spirits.

 

Is that a thing? If not, she’s going to make it a thing.

 

“What is your definition of soon? Like, thirty minutes? An hour? Two hours? Can I take a shower? Do I have to wear makeup? Dry my hair? Because I think I’ve decided I’m not drying my hair anymore until I invent a blow dryer that lets me do it without the room getting all hot.”

 

Killian chuckles besides her, running his hand over his face before leaning over and tapping his fingers against her shoulder. “What the hell are you on about, Swan?”

 

“Nothing,” she promises, stretching out her limbs and feeling the pleasant ache everywhere. “Just something I was thinking about the other day. But seriously, when are we eating lunch?”

 

“One.”

 

“And what time is it now?”

 

“Eleven.”

 

She sighs, her head hitting back against the pillows. She really likes his pillows. And his comforter. And his bed. Maybe she should look into getting something similar for her apartment even if she really can’t be redecorating right now. And her stuff isn’t bad. It’s just not quite this soft. She’s got to give it to Killian. He really knows how to pick out a bed set.

 

“Okay, I’m going to go shower and get ready. Will you go make me some coffee?”

 

“It would be my only mission in life, milady.”

 

She playfully rolls her eyes, getting out of bed and heading toward the shower, turning on the water as she strips out of her clothes. His shower doesn’t take long to heat, and she appreciates that as she steps in. When she turns to the side and sees her preferred shampoo and conditioner on his shelf, she laughs a bit to herself. Did he really go out and buy her stuff? That’s either incredibly thoughtful or he’s just really into how her shampoo smells.

 

She’s thinking it might be both, especially since Killian did not smell like vanilla when she got here yesterday. The bottle also isn’t open, so she’s leaning more toward him simply being thoughtful.

 

He probably bought her favorite brand of coffee too. And the creamer. It’s only going to get a little weird if she finds her preferred tampons in the cabinets under the sink.

 

After she showers, she gets dressed, pulling on some jean shorts and a thin sweater. She can already feel how much hotter it is here than at home, and she’s a little scared to think about how hot it’s going to be when June and July roll around. At least he doesn’t live a little further south because the desert weather is not for her.

 

When she’s brushing through her hair, Killian comes into the bathroom with her coffee, placing it on the counter before wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his lips against her neck. He hums, and she feels the vibrations all the way throughout her body, gooseflesh rising across her skin. “Hmm, you smell good.”

 

Okay, so maybe he’s a bit into how her shampoo and conditioner smell. She can’t say she really minds. She likes his body wash.

 

You like weird things when in a relationship. Things that seem really creepy if you think about them too much.

 

“Well, it seems that someone went out and bought me shampoo and conditioner when I brought little travel bottles of it myself.”

 

He chuckles against her neck while his hands dip underneath her shirt and run up her stomach. His hands are warm and a bit rough, and she wishes this is how every morning started. Well, no, how they started it earlier was good too, but that would be physically...impossible.

 

“Aye, I may have done some shopping.” His lips move up and down the cords of her neck again, desire pooling in her belly. “Can’t have you walking around here with unwashed hair. That would just be unsanitary, love.”

 

He bites her earlobe, and she gasps, jumping the slightest bit. She can see the mischief in his eyes from the mirror, and she’s just about to let him keep going before she remembers that they have to go somewhere. “Hey, stop,” she whines, twisting around so that her ass rests against the counter and her hands press up against his chest. When he raises an eyebrow, she explains, “You’re the one who said we had to go. We don’t have time. You have to shower, I have to finish getting ready, and I really want that coffee before it gets cold.”

  
  
“So this is about the coffee then?”

 

“Absolutely.” She pushes him back, making him move a few steps away. “Now go get ready. We’ve got things to do, and you’re taking forever.”

 

Once Killian is ready, they load up into his car and drive the few minutes to Liam and Elsa’s. She doesn’t know what exactly she was expecting, but she wasn’t really expecting something so…modern, especially with the way that Killian’s house feels a bit old school. But they pull into a driveway of house that’s pretty much in the shape of a bunch of odd boxes with large windows and clean lines. It’s weird, but it’s actually pretty cool.

 

And now she wants to know what the inside looks like. Maybe this is just how houses are in Norway, and maybe she should ask how Elsa and Anna got here from Norway. Or why. Somehow that’s never come up. The Joneses are very international, and she’s lived in Massachusetts for her entire life.

 

She likes it though. She likes the stability of it.

 

Plus, Boston is awesome.

 

England and Norway are probably pretty awesome too.

 

Killian turns off the engine and undoes his seatbelt while she does the same. “Are you ready, Swan?”

 

“Yep, let’s go feed me to the wolves.”

  
  
“So morbid.”

 

Killian lets them into the house without knocking, and really, with all of the awkward situations that have happened with just walking into someone else’s house, she thinks that maybe they would learn better. But when you have a key, you have a key. Might as well use it. At least Elsa and Liam know they’re coming at this time.

 

“Els,” Killian calls out, guiding her through the house with his hand on her back. From what she can tell, all of the furniture is surprisingly warm, not at all matching the outside of the house. So maybe Elsa and Liam just compromised with their living situation.

 

“In the kitchen,” Elsa calls out. She has no idea where the kitchen is, but she follows Killian down the hall and through double doors until she’s in a kitchen where Elsa is sitting on a barstool feeding Aiden in what seems to be a very messy affair. “Come on, we like peas, baby. We do.”

 

“No one likes peas, Els.”

 

Elsa turns to look at them, her braid whipping around on her shoulder and a bright smile forming on her face. “Oh hi guys.”

 

She gets up from her stool, placing the spoon on the high chair’s table, and comes to quickly hug Killian before absolutely smothering her in an embrace. She had no idea someone with such a small frame could give such a powerful hug. It takes her back a bit before she lightly wraps her arms around Elsa’s back and gently pats.

 

She’s definitely the most awkward person in the world.

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says when she pulls back, finally breathing again now that Elsa isn’t crushing her lungs. “You can keep feeding Aiden. We didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

 

“Oh, no, he’s fine. He’s just going to throw them everywhere. He liked them when they were all smushed up, but he refuses to eat them now. It’s weird. But I’m excited to meet you. I feel like I’m meeting someone famous or something.”

 

“That’s kind of an ironic statement when you think about it.”

  
  
“True,” Elsa laughs, moving away from Emma and going back to sit with Aiden who is very animatedly trying to convey something to Killian as he babbles. “But seriously, you are Killian’s number one topic, and it’s nice to be able to put a real person to the stories.”

  
  
“Elsa,” Killian grits, blush rising on his cheeks and reaching the tips of his ears. He’s embarrassed, and honestly all she wants to do is laugh at him. It’s cute. He talks about her, and he’s embarrassed about it. “Do you not have a filter?”

 

“Oh, well, no, I guess. I didn’t think that would be embarrassing. You’re a grown man. You should feel confident in talking about your girlfriend.”

 

“Oh my God,” he groans, running his hand through his hair before reaching down and popping one of Aiden’s peas in his mouth, even though she knows that he doesn’t actually like peas. He wasn’t lying earlier when he said that, but Aiden imitates him, taking a pea and popping it in his mouth too, smiling with each one. “I’m not talking to you about things ever again.”

  
  
“Please,” Elsa laughs, “I didn’t even say anything really embarrassing. It’s not like I told her about the goofy grin you get on your face when she texts you or how you’ll walk out of the room in the middle of the conversation to answer her calls sometimes and come back in the room looking like a teenager who just made it to second base for the first time.”

 

A laugh rumbles through Emma’s stomach until she can’t contain it anymore, loudly chuckling at the proud look on Elsa’s face and the mortified one on Killian’s. He’s so rarely embarrassed, usually full of more confidence than any one human being should possess, but this is a rare treat.

 

She really likes Elsa. Any woman who can knock Killian down a peg is someone who she can be a fan of.

 

“Please Elsa,” Emma laughs, taking a few steps over to Killian and placing her hand on his back, rubbing it in soothing circles, “continue to tell me all of these things about Killian. I’m going to hoard them away and save them for later when he’s making fun of me for something stupid.”

  
  
“Oh, I have a lot to tell you. I promise.” A door slams from somewhere, and Elsa’s eyes go wide. “But that sounds like Liam is finished with the steaks out on the grill. Do you guys want to eat in here or are you good outside?”

 

“Outside. They’ve got a beautiful garden, love. You should see it.”

 

Killian leads her outside while Elsa finishes feeding Aiden, and he’s right. They do have a beautiful garden, flowers blooming all across the backyard and around the pool, which is just stunning. She has about a million questions about how they can afford this place, but that would definitely not be something she can just ask. It would kind of take away her whole idea of this going better than when Liam met her.

 

“Liam, what does one have to do to get one of those steaks?”

 

She turns to see Liam standing on the other side of the deck, setting out food on a table. Her heart starts beating a bit quicker, her nerves coming back into play after she’d calmed down, and she has to remind herself that it’s okay. This is all okay. It’s just Killian’s brother. It’s just another person. And really, if anyone should be nervous, it should be Liam.

 

Right?

 

“For me, cook it. For you, just showing up apparently.” Liam lifts his hand and waves. “Hi, Emma. It’s nice to see you again.”

  
  
She waves back, though she’s not exactly sure what it is she just did with her fingers. This is obviously some kind of alternate universe. Killian is embarrassed. She has forgotten how to fake it until she makes it, but it’s fine. It’s all fine. She’s got to stop thinking the word fine. “Hey, nice to see you too. The food smells good.”

  
  
“I hope it tastes good too. Why don’t you two grab a seat, and I’ll go get the drinks. Water, lemonade, beer? Any preferences?”

  
  
“Water.”

 

“Water is fine for me too.”

 

Liam nods before walking off, and she and Killian settle down into chairs at the table. The sun is shining directly in her eyes, so she pulls her sunglasses out of her hair, having to tug a bit when they get caught in the front few strands.

 

“So you’ve survived the initial meeting. How does it feel?”

 

“I don’t know. Do you think I’ll get a better grade than satisfactory?”

  
  
He winks. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

If her first meeting with Liam is a certified national disaster, this is basically like a trip to Disney World. But it’s not one where it’s one hundred degrees out, all of the kids are crying, and you stepped in puke while waiting in line for Space Mountain. No, it’s the cute trip where you wear the mouse ears, it’s a nice seventy five degrees and overcast, and you have a fast pass for all of the lines.

 

It’s good, basically. It’s all good. The food is fantastic, and Liam and Elsa make her comfortable with their conversations, keeping things light and airy with the right sense of humor mixed in. She doesn’t have to talk about her job, there’s no weird conversation about what her intentions are with Killian (she still can’t believe David almost did that), and mostly she just gets to spend the afternoon getting to know Killian’s family.

 

It’s the first time she’s ever really gotten to meet someone’s family. Neal, well, he obviously wasn’t going to let her meet his family. She didn’t even know he had a family until it was over. Walsh pretty much ruined things after meeting her friends, and, well, none of the others were ever really the “meet the family” type of guys or relationships. So this is okay. She’s doing okay. She also feels like an asshole for making fun of Killian for being nervous to meet her friends.

 

This can be absolutely _terrifying_.

 

“Where’s the restroom?” she asks after she finishes her second glass of water.

 

“There’s one just inside, lass. The second door on the left.”

  
  
“Thank you.” She nods her head before scooting her chair back, making her way inside and finding the bathroom right where Liam told her it would be. She’s only gone for a minute, keeping herself away from idly examining how they have the room decorated while she’s washing her hands, and then she’s walking out of the room and running into a solid body, grabbing onto forearms.

 

“Oh, shit,” Liam mumbles, nearly dropping the bottles he’s holding from where she opened the door on him. “Sorry, love. Did not mean to bowl you over.”

  
  
“It’s fine,” she promises, letting go of where her nails were digging into Liam’s forearms to steady herself. “It’s the hazard of doors, you know?”

  
  
“Bloody awful inventions.”

  
  
“I mean, I wouldn’t say that, but sometimes they do suck.”

 

Liam chuckles a little bit, but after he stops, they’re standing together in awkward silence. Like, really awkward silence. Like, she wishes she could get hit over her head with the door awkward silence.

 

“Well, I’m just gonna,” she begins, her sentence trailing off as she moves away only for Liam to put his arm out in front of her.

 

“Wait, Emma. Can we talk?”

 

She gulps, but she knew this was coming at some point. She wanted this to happen. She wants the air to be cleared because she’s not sure how much longer she can take this looming over her head.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

  
  
Liam readjusts the beer bottles he’s holding, fidgeting with them until she takes two out of his hands and holds them herself, the glass cool to the touch. “I want to start with the fact that I’m sorry. Genuinely very sorry. I…there aren’t any excuses. I was an arsehole who overreacted in a lot of ways, and while I wish I could take it all back, I know that I can’t. It still happened no matter how much time has passed.”

 

“Look, I totally get where you were coming from,” she starts, having rehearsed this conversation several times over while in the shower or on the treadmill but knowing that nothing she thought is going to come out of her mouth now. “You’re Killian’s brother, but you’re also like his dad, whether he owns up to it or not. You two have been through some shit together, and I get you wanting to protect him.”

 

Liam nods, smiling a bit. “Thank you, lass.”

 

" _But_  I also think you need to trust him some more and maybe not chomp the head off of anyone you see him becoming close to. I get the situation was messed up and confusing. There were a lot of things wrong there, but I didn’t deserve to be treated like that no matter what you thought when you saw me.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just his – ”

 

“His past, I know,” she finishes for him while her finger wipes off some of the condensation of the bottle. “Liam, I’ve got a fucked up past too, and I know that probably worries you almost as much as me being some weird psycho fan. I’m not. I like Killian’s movies, and I thought he was attractive from, you know, the way normal people think a celebrity is attractive. You see them on TV and just notice it. I lost a bet. That’s why I asked him out. It was for a bet, not some kind of weird obsession, and I knew it could help the shelter and all of the kids. It’s stupid and embarrassing, but it’s true. I never could have imagined any of this. I honestly thought I was just going to embarrass myself and have that video haunt me for the rest of my life.”

 

“I didn’t…I didn’t realize. I guess I shouldn’t have just assumed things.” He runs his free hand through his hair, making the curls stick up and straighten. “God, love, I’m a bit of a wanker, aren’t I?”

 

She takes a step forward and places her hands on his shoulders, smiling up at him. “You are, but you’re a wanker from the heart.” Liam snorts at her joke, and she feels a bit better about things. “And you love your brother. You just want the best for him. I get that because I love him too.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Absolutely, totally, completely. All of the cheesy ways you can think about it.”

 

“Good because I have never seen him so enamored with someone. I’m pretty sure he thinks you hung the stars in the sky.”

  
  
“Well, he obviously needs to go back to school because I did not do that. Though I appreciate the sentiment.” She squeezes Liam’s shoulder, a lightness taking over her that she hasn’t felt since she stepped through the front door here. “I’m pretty sure they’re going to send a search party out here for us if we don’t go back outside soon.”

 

Liam nods and follows her outside, and the moment she steps out on the deck, she sees Killian throwing his head back with laughter and stretching his arms up over his head. He’s happy, truly in his element, and while she knew how much he loves his family, it was hard to really understand until she saw him with them. It’s like a one of a kind thing, she thinks. And she gets it now. This is one of the places he feels most at home.

 

“Love, how the hell did Liam get you into carrying out the drinks for him?”

 

She shrugs, setting her bottles down onto the table and sliding back into her seat. Killian grabs her hand and brings her wrist to his lips, his scruff pleasantly scratching her skin. “He couldn’t handle it all on his own. I think it was too much responsibility for him.”

 

“That’s true,” Elsa laughs, taking another sip of her water. “We tend to only let him do the little things. He’s just a liability otherwise.”

 

“He always has been a little rough around the edges and never quite as bright as he thinks he is.”

  
  
Liam huffs, popping off the top of his drink and taking a long sip. “I did not invite you two over to be ganged up on in my own home.”

  
  
Elsa pats his shoulder, a falsely sweet smile on her face. “No, babe, that’s why I invited them over.”

 

Yeah, so she really likes Killian’s family.

 

* * *

 

That night she and Killian are sitting on his back porch, the song of the ocean loud as it crashes up onto the sand and the crackling of the firepit at his neighbor’s house popping in her ears. It’s surprisingly cold for the coast at the end of May, not that she’d actually know from experience, and since she didn’t pack much for the short time that she’s here, she had to borrow a pair of Killian’s sweatpants, rolling them up at the waist so they don’t trip her up as she walks around. They’re warm, and she already knows that she’s probably going to borrow them…for an undetermined amount of time.

 

They stayed at Liam and Elsa’s for a few more hours this afternoon, really until the sun began to set and Elsa was one yawn away from falling asleep sitting up all the while Aiden napped in his nursery. She apparently usually naps with him, and as much of a good time as Emma was having, she felt awful keeping Elsa awake. So she and Killian came back to his house and have spent most of their time sitting out here or wandering along the sand.

 

He really does live in a beautiful place, and she wishes that she wasn’t leaving tomorrow. This has been like a tease, like a sip of wine when you want the entire bottle, but it’s leaving her feeling just as hungover as she would have been had she downed the entire bottle and then some all by herself.

 

Sighing, she moves her head to rest against Killian’s shoulder and wraps her arms around his middle while he spreads the blanket out over them a little more, making sure that their feet are covered from where they’re propped up on a table. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, but she likes the swing he has out here and could gladly spend an entire day back here feeling it gently rock back and forth. She feels Killian’s lips press against her forehead, and it only makes her nuzzle further into him, moving her legs and curling them up underneath her for more warmth.

 

“Liam and a made up.”

  
  
“Yeah?” he asks, rubbing his hand up and down her side, fingers snaking underneath her shirt and spreading out across her stomach.

 

“Yeah. It was…easy. I always imagined it to be more intense, to be harder, but I guess so much time has passed, so much as changed, that I had already forgiven him. I’d already decided that we could get along for you as long as he didn’t do something dumb like that again.”

 

“He’d have at least six people after his head, so I imagine Liam won’t be mucking things up any time soon.”

  
  
“Any time soon? So what? He’s just going to wait even longer and strike when we’re least expecting it?”

  
  
“That is not at all what I meant.”

  
  
“I know. You just mean he’ll be on his best big brother behavior from now on.”

  
  
“Older brother behavior,” Killian corrects her, squeezing her side and making her giggle. “He is older and not necessarily wiser, just to make that clear.”

  
  
“You guys have a weird relationship.”

  
  
“I think I have a weird relationship with everyone. It’s just my nature.”

 

“True,” she sighs, tilting her head and kissing the bare skin at his collarbone, “you are a weird, guy.”

 

“Who you have fallen head over heels in love with.”

  
  
“True, even if I don’t understand that saying. Isn’t your head always over your heels?”

 

“Huh,” he laughs while she does the same, “that’s true. I’m sure there’s some kind of explanation. We could google it.”

 

“I don’t care that much.”

 

“See, but now you’ve brought up a good question, Swan. How many phrases are out there that we say but that make no sense? How many phrases have gotten all mixed up over the years? Who even comes up with these phrases? I feel like we need to spend all night discussing this and researching this because – ”

 

She shuts him up by cupping his cheeks and bringing his lips to hers. She loves him in a head over heels kind of way, but she also knows him. If she lets him, he really will spend the entire night researching this, and she doesn’t want time to slip away from them, not like that. She can’t let it, so she continues to move her mouth against his, tilting her head and opening her mouth as he does the same. His breath is hot, and he still tastes like lunch, and even though she didn’t mean for this to be any more than a simple kiss to make him be quiet, she really does like taking advantage of having his lips on hers in person while his hand moves up and cups her breast underneath her shirt. There’s no replicating any of this when they’re apart.

 

There’s no chance.

 

“I cannot believe you just kissed me to get me to shut up. Again. I’m starting to think you don’t like listening to me talk.”

 

“You talk a lot,” she pants, her lips still tingling while she catches her breath, “and as much as I really do like listening to you, I had a feeling we were about to go down the rabbit hole.”

  
  
“I fully plan on doing research on this at some point, you know? It’s nice to get to learn new things about the world.”

 

“If that’s how you spend your free time, I think you might need to work more.”

 

“Speaking of that,” Killian begins, pulling back from her and reaching down to pull the blanket back over them from where it had fallen, “I have some work stuff I need to talk to you about.”

  
  
“Why do you need to talk to me about them?”

 

“Because they’re time commitments, and that’s something I want to talk about with you.”

  
  
“Okay,” she sighs, wishing that she could dip her head in the ocean to calm herself down. Why is she freaking out? She should not at all be freaking out. Is she actually freaking out or is she just nervous because Killian basically just gave her a version of ‘we need to talk’ and who the hell wants to hear that? “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

 

He reaches up with his free hand and tucks her hair behind her ears, and instead of having it calm her, it just makes her nervous. “I’ve been getting some of my next few months mapped out, professionally, and since I turned down Yours Truly – ”

 

“Wait. You turned that down? Why? I thought you liked that script?”

  
  
“I did, love. I didn’t like the entire last half of the year in Switzerland for where I’m at personally right now. It was too far away from home, from my family, from _you_.”

 

She gulps, the implication behind his words obvious. Yeah, okay, so she’s nervous. “You gave up the role for me?”

  
  
“Aye,” he admits, the corners of his lips ticking up the slightest bit. “I know it was a bit presumptuous despite where we are now, knew that it might freak you out a little. It freaks me out a bit, Swan, but with us already not being near each other, this is something we have to think about.”

 

Deep breath in.

 

Deep breath out.

 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

 

He really didn’t have to do that. She knows that it wasn’t just for her. It was for him, and Killian would never make a decision that he doesn’t think is smart. He just wouldn’t. So if he’s happy with it, she’s happy with it.

  
  
“I wanted to. I’ll find other projects closer to here for now or maybe far away sometime later, but I probably won’t film again until spring or next summer depending on if I find anything and production times. I do have the promotions for Highland Waters. I believe that’s going to be in July, and it’s going to premiere around Labor Day. I was kind of hoping you’d like to come to that with me.”

 

“What kind of premiere?”

 

“A small one,” Killian promises, squeezing her arm to reassure her while she feels like she suddenly can’t breathe. She’s fine. She is. Really. This is just a lot all at once. But she’s good. They’re good. This may possibly be the first time anyone has ever put this much consideration into how she feels about their life. “I believe it’s just at the studio or a theater or something, but it’s pretty much a party with the cast and crew. Lots of good food and drinks. It’ll be fun, and you only have to come if you want to.”

  
  
“No, no, I want to,” she reassures him. “I already get that Monday off, and I can probably use up some of my days if I haven’t already. I want to see this show you spent forever on, and, you know, support you or whatever.” She moves out of his arms and stands up from the swing, stretching her legs out the slightest bit. “But we can figure out all of this stuff on the phone. I’ve got to leave in the morning, so I really don’t want to spend the rest of the night working out our schedules.”

 

* * *

 

She was right to think that a weekend is just a little tease, and she’s not entirely sure if leaving after two days or two weeks is worse. But she’s got work in the morning and a flight scheduled in an hour and a half, so as she hugs Killian goodbye in the hourly parking lot of LAX she doesn’t have any choice but to leave.

 

It’s a transition, something they’re working out, and the leaving will get easier. It has to. Or it might not. Honestly, she has no idea if the ache in her chest is ever going to stop, but unlike the rest of her life where all she’s done is freak out about the future, she’s trying to take this one day at a time. Some looks ahead at the future but one day at a time.

 

“I love you, KJ,” she whispers into his neck before brushing her lips there.

 

“I love you too. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

 

“Yep,” she sighs, pulling back from his hug and picking her bag up from the ground. “I’ll see you soon.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Over the course of June, Killian’s sure that he flies between Los Angeles and Boston more times than any other passenger. He’s not really working consistently while Emma is, so he’s constantly loading up on a plane, racking up miles every time just to spend a day or two in Boston before he’s flying back for a meeting or a pre-made appointment. Sometimes he has to simply show up an event, let people see him wearing clothes, and then he can leave. He thinks those are his least favorite, but as much as acting is his job, that is too.

 

Sometimes he really wonders about his life. It’s definitely not normal. He knows that, but he’s honestly used to it. He was comfortable with it, but that was before he fell in love with a woman who lives three thousand miles away.

 

(Two thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine miles to be exact. He looked it up.)

 

Honestly, though, he’d spend his life on a plane just to be with her. Will calls him sappy (a sappy wanker actually), and while he might be, he doesn’t really care. It’s definitely worth it.

 

Emma is worth it.

 

Damn, okay, maybe he is sappy.

 

Of course, with his frequent flying and the few posts he’s made about Emma online, never showing her face or saying her name, the amount of pictures of him on the internet has increased drastically. With that, journalists and paparazzi have begun to investigate where he’s going, often finding him in Boston with Emma when they’re out to eat or running outside. Last week they went to the Red Sox game when they were playing the Yankees, bringing her friends with them, and he couldn’t even begin to count the amount of people that were waiting outside of the stadium when he left. What could possibly be so interesting about him walking out of a baseball game he’ll never know.

 

According to Robin, they’ve recognized Emma from their first date at the charity gala, and with every new picture that’s taken, there’s some other bogus article about them, the information supposedly coming from their close friends. Considering that everything about it is bullshit and that none of their friends would ever talk to a journalist, he’s not too concerned about it all. Really, everything is gossip, just articles that are made for clicks, and the only concerns he truly has about all of it is Emma and her well-being.

 

She seems to be fine, says that she’s fine, and is always telling him that she understood what she was getting into to a certain extent. It hasn’t been as bad as it once had been in the past, his lack of released projects likely helping with that, and he’s never been so thankful for not having worked as much as he usually does. She did say there were some photographers outside of her apartment last week, which isn’t a shock since they managed to find it the night of their first date, but that it hadn’t been enough to make her uncomfortable.

 

He, however, is entirely uncomfortable with anyone trailing after Emma and her home. He’s the one who chose this profession and everything that comes with it, and while he doesn’t like it, he should be the one to have to take all of the displeasure and annoyances that come with it, not his girlfriend when she’s simply trying to go throughout her life like she always has.

 

Emma’s flying out to him tomorrow, though, claiming that she wants to spend some time at the beach for the weekend. She took Friday off, has been working her arse off all week to make up for it too, and he’s excited to see her while also being able to spend time in his own home. He’s not saying his bed is more comfortable than Emma’s, but his bed is definitely more comfortable than Emma’s.

 

She admits to it as well.

 

His bed is bloody comfortable.

 

“You have issues, man,” Will whistles, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge and settling down on a stool while Killian continues to wash their plates from lunch.

 

“What issues do I have?”

 

“You’ve been in here scrubbing three plates for over fifteen minutes. And you’re just going to put them in the washer too. I don’t see the point.”

 

Killian shrugs, rinsing his plate off one more time before drying it with a towel. “It’s a force of habit. Didn’t have a dishwasher growing up and had to do things by hand. I’ve never quite gotten out of the habit. Also, you’re not supposed to insult the hands that feed you.”

 

“Before you eat, mate. It’s after. You can’t spit in my food now.”

  
  
“I’ll save it for next time. What time do you have to be down at the bar?”

 

“Seven. I’m working until closing, which always sucks on Wednesdays. Who the hell stays out until closing on Wednesdays?”

 

“People who need something to drink about or who don’t have normal jobs. Or kids. So, really, most people in this city.”

 

“True,” Will sighs, taking another sip of his water. “I’m still waiting for you to give me a fancy job like Rob where I can finally work semi-normal hours.”

  
  
“I told you. Come up with something you can do, and I’ll let you do it. Though you do serve a mean drink.” He opens up the dishwasher and puts the plates inside, checking to see how much longer until he can run the thing. “Is the match still going on?”

 

“Yeah, it’s in the beginnings of the fifth set. I think Rob is going to pull his hair out. But not for him. Rol has apparently been freaking out for the whole tournament. Tennis is his new thing, says Messi and Ronaldo are old news.”

  
  
“Ah, to be young and switch interests so quickly.”

 

“Bloody hell,” Robin groans from the living room, loud enough for them to hear in the kitchen. “Why would you do that? You should have gone down the line instead of cross court.”

 

“Do we need to go save him before he rips all of his hair out and breaks your TV?”

 

“I don’t care about his hair, but I do care about my TV.”

 

“I can hear you,” Robin yells, the displeasure in his voice obvious. “You try having a son who’s freaking out about this match while he’s supposed to be learning how to use correct grammar at school.”

 

“I’ll get to working on that,” Will jokes, sliding back in his stool while Killian grabs himself a water bottle as well. “Though I don’t really think a lass will want to have a kid with me just so I can yell at the TV. I think that’s the opposite of what they want.”

 

“Just shut up and come watch the match,” Robin groans, and Killian shakes his head back and forth while laughter rumbles through his stomach.

 

“You two are ridiculous.”

 

* * *

 

_Emma: I just boarded the plane. See you soon! Is there a way you can make the rain forecast go away?_

_Kilian: Let me just use my magical powers, and I’ll do that for you._

_Emma: You’re da bomb diggity._

_Emma: Pretend I didn’t type that._

_Killian: Never. Be safe, love._

_Emma: I shall not wear my seatbelt and will walk around during turbulence._

_Killian: The definition of safety._

He goes back to lounging on his couch and flipping through channels on the TV. It’s been a long time since he was this bored, and he’s contemplating asking Elsa to bring Aiden over to the house just so that he has someone to talk to. Of course, he’s thinking about having a baby for his conversational partner, so he’s not sure how good of an idea that is.

  
Elsa would be here too, but he honestly wasn’t thinking about having her to talk to. He may be a horrible brother-in-law. And friend. So both. He’s terrible with both.

 

He’ll have to go see them sometime next week. He’s saw Liam when they went to dinner Monday night, but Elsa had been going to spend time with her friends. Maybe Emma will want to go over there this weekend, or they can come here and spend the day at the beach with them.

 

If he makes the rain go away. He’s supposed to be doing that.

 

He really might be bored enough to be delusional.

 

Sighing, he keeps flipping through the channels and leaves it on Friends, knowing if anything that can just play in the background while he fiddles around on his phone. He might need to pick up a new hobby other than reading and exercising. And he’s pretty sure that exercising is technically part of his job.

 

Does he really only have one hobby? Well, taking his boat out must count. So that’s two.

 

He’s got to work on this apparently.

 

Slowly but surely the hours pass as he alternates between watching TV and wandering around his house, cleaning up and straightening anything that’s out of place. If he wasn’t always traveling, he’d get a dog to keep him company, and he definitely spent at least two hours looking at different breeds just now.

 

He wants them all.

 

His phone buzzes to tell him there’s someone at the gate, and when he checks the video feed, it’s Emma punching in the code and walking through with her weekend bag slung over her shoulder. He immediately gets up from the couch and walks to his front door, swinging it open and running outside to catch Emma before she bothers going through the garage.

 

“Oh hey,” she begins when she sees him twisting her body at the sound of the door opening. “Were you watching the cameras because – ”

 

He doesn’t let her finish, grabbing onto her waist and pulling her to him with his lips, effectively quieting her words while she gasps into her mouth. It’s only been a week, but he’s been anxiously awaiting her being here for the entire time. Missing her isn’t getting any easier. If anything, he thinks it’s getting a bit harder. She tastes like coffee and minty gum, a combination that’s not great, but he doesn’t really care with the way she’s sliding her lips over his and threading her fingers into his hair, her nails scratching at the sensitive spots on his scalp. God, he loves her a ridiculous amount, and he’ll never not be thankful that she allows him to be a part of her life.

 

“Were you watching the cameras?” she sighs breathlessly when she pulls back, resting her forehead against his, her skin ridiculously warm while a breeze blows past them, the impending storm picking up. “Because I can’t decide if that’s sweet or creepy.”

 

“Just be quiet, Swan,” he laughs, gliding his lips over hers again and sucking on her upper lip. He quite likes the little noise she makes when he does it, and he’d like to hear it as often as possible. “And I wasn’t watching. My phone sends me a message whenever there’s someone at the gate.”

  
  
“Fancy.”

  
  
“I try to be. You want to come inside?”

  
  
“Why, Mr. Jones,” she begins in an exaggerated accent, “you have to buy me dinner first before I come inside. I am a lady. I can’t just go home with any man.”

 

“Did you watch a period piece on the plane?”

  
  
“Absolutely I did.”

  
  
“That’s what I thought.”

 

The moment they get inside and have the door closed, Emma drops her bag to the ground and wraps her arms around his neck while he backs her up to the front door, rolling his hips against hers while his mouth moves over hers with more force and more intensity than it did outside. This is how most of their reunions go, hurriedly greeting each other and making up for all of the lost time that they’ve missed while apart. She’s bloody intoxicating in the way the she feels against him, the way that her tongue feels as it dances with his, and with the way that her hands move along his shoulders and up and down his sides, snaking up under his shirt at the same time this his hands find the warm skin of her stomach.

 

“I smell like airport.”

  
  
“You know I don’t care. I missed you.”  
  


“I missed you too,” she sighs before gasping as his lips trace along her jaw, nipping slightly and soothing every bite with his tongue. He doesn’t want to leave a mark, won’t leave one, but she likes when he teases her. He likes it too.

 

“That seemed like the longest flight of all time.”

  
  
“You weren’t…ah fuck, you weren’t even on it.”

 

“I was waiting for you.”

  
  
“Again, it sounds creepy without context.”

 

He chuckles against her ear before kissing the lobe all the while his thumbs ghost over her nipples through her bra. He can feel the lace underneath his touch, and it sends a shiver down his spine. She’s not usually one for pretty little underwear, so he’s not going to complain when he’s gifted with this.

 

“You talk far too much when I’m supposed to be taking your breath away.”

  
  
“Do a better job,” she teases him, resting her forehead against his shoulder while she maneuvers herself to wrap her legs around his waist, grinding her core into his so that they both groan. “You can take me upstairs now.”

  
  
“Not feeling like walking?”

  
  
“Not at all.”

 

He walks her down the hallway and to the stairs all the while her lips trail across his jaw and down his neck, the pressure at the base of his spine continuously building and building and building to the point where it’s almost painful not to be inside of her right now.

 

“Oh my God, KJ,” she gasps when he stops to readjust her in his arms on the middle landing, “don’t you dare drop me.”

 

“I’m not going to, love. That’s why I’m adjusting you. This isn’t as easy as you’d think when my entire body is thrumming with frustration.”

 

“Thrumming?”

  
  
“It’s a word.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s kind of weird word when you think about it. I mean – ”

 

“Emma, my love,” he interrupts continuing to take the steps upstairs since he’s now confident he won’t drop her, “I will absolutely sit with you and talk about language in about twenty minutes, but I need you to not think about the origins of the word thrumming right now.”

 

“Oh you think you’re going to last that long when you’re _thrumming_  with desire?”

 

He drops Emma on the bed the moment he’s close enough to it, letting her bounce just because she’s being a smart arse, but she doesn’t seem at all deterred by that. “You are driving me mad.”

  
  
“I know, I know,” she squeals as he peppers kisses across her face while undoing his zipper. “I just feel like humming would be a better choice there and – ”

 

He cuts her off with a kiss. It’s all he can do when she’s in a playful mood like this and wants to have an absolutely ridiculous conversation with him when he really does feel as if he may burst from frustration, desire, or whatever the hell Emma wants to call it. Honestly, he loves her, but he missed her like mad and needs this right now. And Emma’s very obviously not protesting with the way she whimpers into his mouth.

 

Despite their brief interlude, it’s a rush of clothing being removed and bodies melding into each other just as their lips have been. She feels fucking fantastic wrapped around him as she moves up and down above him, and he has to briefly close his eyes with the pleasure of it all. They’ve truly gotten into a groove as of late, finally having time to learn more about each other’s bodies and pleasures as they spend more time together, and he can absolutely feel all of the proof of that right now.

 

It’s honestly like heaven.

 

Emma falls apart before he does despite how keyed up he’s been, but he doesn’t last long after her, not with the way she feels pulsing (thrumming) around him and the way she whispers his name over and over again into his ear while her nails dig into his shoulders. It was quick and a bit messy, maybe even a little harsh, but as they both rest against each other while catching their breaths, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

“Hold on, darling,” he whispers, moving her off of him while he walks into the bathroom on still shaky legs to clean himself up and get a wash cloth for Emma. He gently cleans her up before pulling on his boxers and tossing the cloth in the laundry bin as he settles back into bed where Emma is still stretched out. “You not going to move, Swan?”

 

“In a minute,” she yawns, slowly sitting up and propping herself up on her elbows. “The jet lag is hitting me right now. Like, hard. I think I was run over by the plane at some point.”

  
  
“Why don’t you go to sleep?”

  
  
“I’m trying,” she yawns again, slowly getting up from the bed and stretching her limbs out the slightest bit. “Will you be, like, the best man in the entire world and go get my bag from downstairs? I’m just going to wear your pajamas, but I need my toothbrush.”

 

“I bought you one to keep here when I went shopping the other day. And I stocked up on some more of your shampoo.”

 

“Is it the – ”

 

“Yep, it’s the electronic kind that you and your special teeth like.”

 

“Bless you,” she sighs, coming over to him and cupping her cheeks before slanting her lips over his while his hands rest at her hips. “I love you, and I know I’m, like, deliriously tired, but that is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  
  
“Yeah, we’re definitely going to have to work on that then.” He gently slaps her arse while their lips are still ghosting over each other. “Go get dressed and try out that toothbrush, Swan.”

 

“I most definitely will.”

 

* * *

 

He’s standing in his kitchen drinking his mug of coffee the next morning when Emma stumbles down the stairs with all of the grace she usually possesses as she walks over his pajama pants that are far too long on her. Usually she rolls them up, but she must have just decided to take the risk of tripping and walked down the stairs like that. Honestly, he’s not even really sure if she’s actually fully awake right now with how sleep rumpled she is.

 

“G’morning, love.”

  
  
“Morning,” she gruffs, walking toward him and taking his coffee out of his hands only to take a sip and scrunch up her face. “This is disgusting.”

  
  
“That’s because it’s made for me and not for you. You don’t like black coffee. I do.”

 

“You’re weird,” she moans, resting her head against his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist after putting the mug down. She must be exhausted, all of her sleep making her groggier than usual, and he lets her rest there, rubbing his hand up and down her back while her hair gets caught in his mouth. Her hair is really something else. “I’m tired.”

 

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

  
  
She weakly hits his back before pulling away from him. “Sorry for taking your coffee. I’m going to make an actual, drinkable cup now, and you can keep your nasty one to yourself.”

 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

“Ha,” Emma laughs, her eyes lighting up, “I knew that I’d get you to say it!”

 

“Aye, Swan, you’ve bested me with your odd little sayings.”

 

“Yes, exactly.” She pokes him in the stomach before moving around him and preparing her own cup. “I said bloody hell the other day, so we obviously both have problems.”

 

It’s nice to have a slow, quiet morning with Emma. There’s no impending plane ride tomorrow, no immediate rush to do everything they absolutely can in twenty-four hours, so they sit in his living room, drinking their coffee and eating the bagels he had delivered this morning. Usually he’d cook something, but he wasn’t feeling like it this morning, figuring he could just order in while Emma was sleeping upstairs.

 

He really likes having her here, and while he knows it’s far too soon to even suggest it, he wishes it could be a permanent thing. He keeps thinking about it, though, thinking about the fact that Emma could have more than just her toothbrush here.

 

She’s laughing at the beginning of the Hangover, something he’d like to get to experience more often, and while he wonders why that movie is playing before noon on a Friday, he’s not going to question it when he can already feel his stomach rumbling with laughter as well. Suddenly Emma’s phone starts ringing, the vibrations causing it to move across the coffee table, and she leans forward to pick it up.

  
  
“Hello?” she answers, adjusting her legs and tucking them underneath her. “Oh hey, Rubes. Rubes? Hey, Ruby?” she soothes, her voice calm yet firm, and he immediately mutes the television so Emma can hear. “Ruby, you have to stop cursing and tell me what’s wrong. Are you okay? Is Marg okay?”

 

She looks over at him with fear in her eyes, the green brighter than usual, but he can see them relax while Ruby tells her whatever she tells her. He can’t hear, the sounds muffled, but if Emma wanted him to, she’d put in on speaker.

 

“Oh, Rubes,” Emma sighs, getting up from the couch and pacing the room, “I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about what happened?”

 

He has absolutely no idea what’s happening, what’s wrong with Ruby, but he watches Emma move back and forth in front of his television, running her hand through her hair multiple times all the while biting her lip. She doesn’t look upset, not truly, but she’s definitely not happy. The fact that she’s not crying soothes him in the fact that he doesn’t think someone has died or been in an accident.

 

He wants to know because he’s curious, but he also wants to know because he wants everyone to be okay. He’s really come to care about Emma’s friends.

 

“I’m going to be home Sunday night. I promise. I’ll come over to your place, or you can come over to mine. It doesn’t matter, but why don’t you go spend some time with Marg? I know you probably want to be alone, but Marg really does help. And I know for a fact that she’s got a bunch of good junk food in her freezer. I love you, Rubes.”

 

Ruby obviously says a few more things, Emma nodding her head to all of them, before she’s hanging up her phone, placing in on the coffee table, and then coming to straddle his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

 

He rubs his hand up and down her back in what he hopes are calming circles. “What’s wrong, Swan? You okay?”

 

“Fine,” she mumbles into his skin before pulling back and settling back on his thighs. He gently take her hand in his, bringing her wrist to his lips and kissing the skin there several times. “I mean, I feel really shitty for being here because Ruby and Victor broke up and I’m not there to comfort her. She took the day off of work and everything, and Ruby is not one for moping. But she’s moping. I think we really all hoped it was going to work out for them this time.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You’re not home because you’re here with me. I’m sorry for Ruby, and I’m sorry you can’t be there with her.”

 

“It’s okay,” she sighs, and he can tell that she only partially means it. “Marg is much more comforting, and then by the time Ruby’s ready to bash Victor, I’ll be there with all of the things that bothered me about him but that I never voiced.”

 

“Is the hair number one on that list?”

 

“Stop,” she groans, scrunching up her face and slapping his shoulder. “That’s awful.”

  
  
“I mean, that is probably pretty tame compared to what’s going on in your mind right now.”

 

“True.” Emma dips her head and slants her lips over his. She tastes like her coffee, the vanilla creamer obvious, and he can’t say he minds, not when the taste is on her lips and not in his coffee. It’s much better than the mint and coffee of last night. “I love you.”

 

He reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ears, the strands continuously falling, before looking up at her through his lashes while his thumb traces over her cheek, over the freckles that reside there. “I love you, too. Do you want to go out to the beach to get your mind off of things?”

  
  
“I’d like that.”

 

The temperature continues to rise throughout the day, but with the way the sky is overcast, the heat isn’t overwhelming. If anything, it almost makes it cool despite being over eighty degrees. And as the dark clouds move in, thunder rumbling in the air, he only gets a few minutes to appreciate Emma in the scrap of fabric she has on before they’re rushing inside already soaked to the bone with how quickly the rain fell.

 

He thought maybe the storm wouldn’t come after it didn’t break last night, but he was apparently wrong about that.

 

After they’ve both quickly rinsed the sand off in the shower and changed into warmer clothes, they settle down in his room, Emma pulling the comforter practically up to her chin while he flips through the channels trying to find something to watch. Emma teases him when they pass one of his movies, practically begging to watch, but he refuses and settles on one of the Oceans movies just to have something playing. Friday afternoon is obviously not prime time for movie replays.

 

Obviously Fridays are just bad for television overall.

 

Emma’s been herself all day, but he can tell that not being at home with Ruby is definitely bothering her. She’ll get quiet every now and then, her gaze trailing away, and she’s got her phone by her side constantly when she usually leaves it alone for a little while, not always having to be on it. He wishes he could help, had offered to pay for her ticket so she could go home early, but she insisted that it was fine, that it really will be better for her to stay. Still, he can tell that she wishes she was at home, especially when she walks out of the room to talk to Mary Margaret for at least an hour.

 

“We should do something with your family tomorrow,” she tells him. “Or Will and Robin. I don’t know. As much as I love sitting inside with you with it pouring down rain outside, we probably should leave this house at some point. Or maybe have people come to us.”

  
  
He wraps his arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer and kissing her temple. “Elsa did say she wanted to do something with you.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“How?”

 

He can feel her shrug under his arm. “We text.”

  
  
“Really now?”

 

“Hey, don’t be so surprised. I like her. Also, I know that you and Marg talk about food all of the time, so it’s really not weird.”

 

“I never said it was, love.”

 

“It was implied, KJ.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re such a cutie,” Emma coos to Aiden, brushing his hair off of his face while she lays on the floor of Elsa’s house with him so that they can play with all of the toys he has scattered across the ground. Aiden’s taken quite a liking to her, which is good considering his fondness for only liking people he knows. “You remind me so much of Leo.”

 

Aiden runs one of his trucks over Emma’s stomach, and she doesn’t even care, laying out on the ground and making Aiden giggle with all of her theatrics.

 

“If anything, I think I’m going to keep you around to entertain my kid,” Elsa laughs, settling down next to him on the couch and handing him the tea she’s been making.

 

“I mean, I’m being run over by giant trucks right now, so it’s very hard work. I feel like I need a pay raise.”

  
  
“We’ll negotiate later.” Elsa nudges his shoulder, making him tear his eyes away from where Emma is now tickling Aiden’s stomach, their combined laughter filling the room.

 

“What?”

 

“Slow your roll,” Elsa whispers into his ear, squeezing his shoulder.

 

“What are you on about, lass?”

 

“You’re thinking about future things,” Elsa continues, and he can feel the blush rising in his face and reaching the tips of his ears. He is thinking about future things, has been all weekend, but watching Emma with Aiden is filling him with more thoughts than it should. One day at a time. They take things one day at a time, maybe a few weeks at a time, but they’re not thinking years ahead. He’s thinking years ahead. “I can see all of the gears turning in your head, see the way you’re making all of these plans.”

 

“I am not.”

  
  
“You are.” She rubs her hand up and down his arm while he takes a sip of his tea, letting the warm liquid wash down. “And I’m so happy for you, but you gotta take the baby steps before you take the running leaps.”

 

He hums, knowing that she’s telling the truth. Honestly, though, even with all of his thoughts about the future, he knows this. He’s not looking to do anything that he’s not ready for. He’s not looking to do anything that Emma’s not ready for.

 

“Thank you for your all-knowing advice, oh wise one.”

 

“Shut up,” she groans, slapping his shoulder before pulling back and picking up her tea from the coffee table and drinking it. “Emma, let me know when you’re tired of fooling with him, and I’ll pull Liam out of his office so that the three of us don’t have to have him constantly in our sights.”

  
  
“Are we talking about Aiden or Killian here?”

 

Elsa giggles beside him, blinking down into her cup all the while he feels the tips of his ears heat again. “Sweetheart,” he sweetly begins, “I will leave you here and change the gate code at the house if this is how things are going to be.”

 

“Hmm,” Emma mumbles, pulling Aiden up to stand on her stomach, “I think I’ll just stay here. I feel like Aiden will gladly share his room with me. He’s much cuter than you too.”

 

“This is so true.”

 

“Bloody hell,” he grumbles into his cup. “I’ve made a mistake introducing the two of you. This is not nearly as entertaining as when we’re all ganging up on Liam.”

  
  
“That’s because Liam is much more fun to make fun of,” Elsa laughs, having to wipe the corners of her eyes. “He gets much more flustered than you, which is saying something.”

 

They stay over at Liam and Elsa’s while the storm rains itself out, coating the city in water that it probably desperately needed, especially with the summer heat taking full effect. It’s nice listening to the steady rhythm of the rain beating against the house, watching it fall down through the floor-to-ceiling windows they have leading out to the backyard, and while he had no intention of staying here all day, it’s exactly what happens. Emma falls asleep in a recliner, a blanket pulled up around her legs and Aiden snuggled into her chest, while he and Elsa watch TV and eat food, catching up on everything they’ve missed while Liam finally leaves his office and joins them.

 

It’s one of those days where you know it’s good while it’s happening, and even though Emma wanted to spend time out at the beach while she was out here, he doesn’t think that the rain has been a bad thing.

 

It’s actually been a good one.

 

Really good.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

“Oh my God,” she giggles, absolutely despising the sound that’s coming out of her mouth with every harsh rub of her calf and massage of her foot. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just…I have weirdly sensitive feet.”

  
  
“And this is exactly why I never take you out to do this,” Ruby sighs in the chair next to her while they get their feet massaged and their toes painted.

 

“Hey, at least I’m not making sex noises like Marg over there.”

 

“I am nearly eight months pregnant,” Mary Margaret protests, cradling her stomach with her hands while letting out the slightest moan as her foot is massaged. “I have swollen feet that hurt. This is like bliss.”

  
  
“That’s what a lot of people say about sex.”

 

“Damn right,” Ruby agrees, making all of their technicians laugh. When she thinks about it too much, having people work on her feet while she has weird conversations with her friends is, well, weird, but it does feel so good after she gets used to her entire body tingling with the touches.

 

But one of Mary Margaret’s students gave her a gift card before they let out for summer break at the end of May, and she insisted on taking Emma and Ruby out after they finished with work since she still hadn’t used the card. Ruby hasn’t wanted to go a lot of places since she and Victor broke up, usually liking going to work and then simply going home, but she and Mary Margaret have made a conscious effort to make sure that Ruby gets out. Ruby has absolutely known what they’re doing, and while at first she would get kind of pissed at them, as the weeks have passed, she’s gotten back to being herself.

 

It probably helps that they let her have an entire night to bash Victor and the fact that he had stopped making time for Ruby, picking up extra unnecessary shifts just so that he didn’t have to come home, and spending more time with his coworkers than Ruby to the point where they basically weren’t seeing each other at all. It was an asshole move, and while she’s never been Vic’s greatest fan, she was such a big fan of how good they were for each other.

 

Until they weren’t.

 

If he’s going to be an asshole and not put an effort into the relationship then Ruby deserves so much better. She just does.

 

Emma hates that she hasn’t been around to help as much as she should have. She really does. Ruby didn’t tell her that they were having issues, didn’t talk about it at lunch, didn’t call and ask to hang out on the weekends when Emma was in town, and the guilt nags at her for not being the best friend for Ruby. She doesn’t abandon people, not when they’ve been so good to her for all of these years, and even though she knows Ruby would tell her that it’s not necessary, she kind of feels like she’s trying to make up for lost time.

 

Ruby and Mary Margaret have been there for her for the past decade, and she will always be there for them. No question.

 

Even if that means dying a little inside while getting her toes painted.

 

“So does our new little friend have a name yet?” she asks to change the subject while pulling her hair up into a messy bun on the top of her head, sure that there’s some weird loops in there since she didn’t use a mirror. “Or are you guys keeping that a secret again?”

 

“I’m kind of leaning toward Brody,” Mary Margaret tells her, which is not what she was expecting. She was fully expecting to have to wait until the kid was born to know his name. “David likes George, but I don’t know…that just seems – ”

 

“Like it’s only cute for babies or old men?”

 

“Exactly. It’s like you have to think of names that work for when they’re babies, when they’re old, and when they’re middle aged. Like, no one wants to walk around talking to a fifty-year-old woman named Bunny.”

 

“Okay, but Bunny doesn’t work. Ever.”

 

“It does if you’re a stripper. You could wear a little cotton ball on your – ”

 

“Rubes,” she laughs, sticking her hand over to Ruby’s seat and squeezing around her palm, “there are some things that should just never be said out loud.”

 

She shrugs, the brightest smile on her face that makes Emma’s lips tug up in the corners until she’s smiling as well. She’s happy. That’s all Emma wants for Ruby. “I’m just saying. It’d be a great little get up. I bet you could do, like, specials for the spring time and make a lot of extra money.”

 

“Anyways,” Mary Margaret says as the blush rises on her cheeks, “so I’m thinking Brody William Nolan. It’s solid, not too weird, and I don’t think it’ll make anybody make fun of him when he gets older.”

 

“That’s the most important thing. Kids are cruel.”

 

“They make fun of you but in an accurate away.”

 

“Amen.”

 

Walking out of the nail salon in those awful flip flips, the three of them make their way down the sidewalk of the shopping center, real shoes in their hands, and let the warm mid-July sun beat down on them as they make their way to the café that’s down the street. It’s already pretty crowded, the dinner rush filling the tables, and she lets Mary Margaret and Ruby settle down at a table outside while she goes in and get their orders, grabbing the buzzer that always scares the crap out of her when it loudly goes off on the table.

 

Every. Damn. Time.

 

If their paninis weren’t so good, she’d really question her choices of coming here so often. They all practically inhale their food, even going back inside to get dessert for Mary Margaret, and with the sun setting over all of the surrounding buildings, the sky a blurred swirl of deep orange and light blue, she revels in how good of a time that this has been. If it wasn’t so damn expensive to eat out all of the time, they’d definitely do this more often instead of sitting at one of their apartments or at the Nolans’ house.

 

Or sadly eating cereal alone in her apartment.

 

And she is getting better at cooking, she swears. She’s been making the effort to eat out less and cook more. She bought a cook book and everything once she finished learning to make all of the recipes Killian left for her.

 

Her life is going in directions she never thought it would, and her buying cook books is definitely just one of those things even if it’s normal to literally everyone else.

 

Her grilled cheese recipe has really improved.

 

It’s a nice summer evening though, one of those where you really just want to be at a baseball game eating junk food with your feet propped up on the seat in front of you while you get horrible tan lines from your shoes and your shorts. She thinks she’s gone to more games in the past few months than she has in her entire life, but then again, so has all of Boston because they just won the World Series last year.

 

That had been a good time.

 

This is nice even if it’s not a game, maybe even better than the game, and by the time she loads up in her car to go home, she can feel a slight heat on her cheeks despite the sunscreen that’s built into her foundation.

 

After she’s showered, washing off the sweat and the day, she changes into her pajamas and settles down onto her couch with her laptop ready to spend the next few hours mindlessly scrolling through Twitter and Pinterest, doing anything to just not have to think for the rest of the evening. Sometimes she just needs to be able to decompress, to let herself relax and rest so she can finish out the last two days of the week.

 

The air conditioner had broken in her office today, and she thought she was absolutely going to die from sweat. It was awful. Absolutely awful.

 

She never would have made it before air conditioning.

 

A message pops up on her computer screen, Killian’s name scrolling across the top, and she clicks on it. It’s a picture of him staring intently into the screen followed by one of him with a goofy grin on his face next to his name on a door. He’s doing the press junket for Highland Waters right now. He’d spent last week in LA doing all of the talk shows that are based out there, and he’s just flown to New York to do more press on this coast.

  
  
Yesterday there’d been a question asked about her on James Cordon (the late late late show, maybe? How many lates are in the name? All she can think of right now is Carpool Karaoke and how she would never be able to focus with Paul McCartney in the passenger seat), which was weird enough as it is, but it was weirder that Killian was almost communicating with her through the television screen since they hadn’t had much time to talk. 

  
  
_“So how does your girlfriend feel about the love scenes you have in this show?”_

  
  
_“Who says that one,” Killian begins, his jaw ticking in the way that she knows that it does when he’s trying to keep a straight face when irritated, “I have a girlfriend, and two, that I have love scenes in the show? This is all classified information.”_

  
  
_“Oh come on, mate. As one handsome British man to another, we both know that the ladies love us.”_

  
  
_“I believe it’s the accent.”_

  
  
_“I believe it’s our smoking bodies.” Killian chuckles at the bad joke, and she can tell it’s genuine even if it’s a bit awkward. The joke was a bit awkward. “But seriously. I’ve been told I can’t let you off this stage unless you talk about your girlfriend, these sex scenes, or if you sing acapella while hopping on one foot.”_

  
  
_“Well okay then,” Killian begins, standing up and jumping on one foot while the audience cheers and she laughs until he sits back down on the couch with a smile on his face. “Yes, there are some intimate scenes in the show.” The crowd wolf whistles, and she can practically feel how hot Killian’s face is through the screen. She can definitely see how red the tips of his ears are, especially since he just got his hair trimmed again. “And while I’m sure my girlfriend doesn’t love them, she understands that this is simply my job. She’s my real life.”_

_She shakes her head back and forth, wishing that she could talk to him through the screen even though she knows that this was filmed hours ago. God, he’s ridiculous, but he makes a good point. She’s not exactly thrilled about some of the scenes she’s seen previews to, but he’s acting. That’s all. It’s not real._

  
  
_“Aww, look at that, he’s a romantic in real life too.” The crowd really does “aw” and she wonders how the hell Killian does this without melting into the couch out of embarrassment. She hasn’t seen him in nearly two weeks, and while she absolutely misses him like something mad, this is weirdly helping. “So if I can prod you a little more about your life…I know you’re pretty private, but we asked Twitter to send us some questions for you and we picked out our favorites.”_

  
  
_“Oh boy,” Killian laughs, bouncing on the couch and scratching behind his ear. “Hit me with your best shot, James.”_

  
  
_“@Solangeisanorange wants to know if the hair on your face is incapable of being shaved off or if you have it insured for millions of dollars?”_

  
  
_“Is that even possible? Can I do that? Because I will. It seems like an easy way to make some money, and then I’d never have to work again. But no, the hair on my face can be shaved off. I clean it up every few days, but I won’t shave it off. I like it this way.”_

  
  
_“What about one of those long beards? Ever thought about one of those?”_

  
  
_“God, no. Can you imagine the maintenance?” Killian laughs, reaching down and taking a sip of the water in his mug. “And I’m far too much of a neat freak for that.”_

  
  
_“Hear that, ladies,” James begins, “he’s a freak.” Killian waggles his eyebrows before James speaks again. “Okay, so @Superior_woman has a question that says: Will you marry me?”_

  
  
_“Only if you buy me a bloody fantastic engagement ring.”_

_“So it’s all about the jewels?”_

_“Family and otherwise, aye.”_

_“Oh my God,” she groans to herself, covering her face with her hands and peeking through her fingers. “That was so bad.”_

_“Alright, alright, alright then. Well, we’ll do two more. Honestly, Twitter, I know it was short notice, but you’ve really got to get more creative in your questions. You can ask Killian Jones anything you want, and you’re asking him if he has any nicknames. Come on, @HannahBG. You should know better.”_

_“It’s a valid question,” Killian answers, most likely relieved that he can answer something normal. “Um, well, I don’t really think so. My girlfriend calls me KJ and arsehole a lot. Those two are pretty interchangeable in her eyes.” The entire room laughs while she mutters “asshole” under her breath. Oh shit. She really does do that. “But I think KJ is probably about it. My nephew does call me something that resembles Killy, though, but I think that’s simply because he can’t say my name. He’s only got a few words down.”_

_“So I have to ask, and this isn’t for myself, I promise. It really is for the audience. How did you meet this girlfriend of yours? Because lack of creativity in nicknames aside, she sounds great. And I’ve heard it’s quite an interesting story.”_

_“Ahh,” Killian sighs, clicking his tongue, “so I think it’s pretty public how we met. She actually…she lost a bet with her best friend who really likes to mess with her. So the friend made Emma record a video asking me on a date to a charity gala for her work with The Children’s Shelter, which is a really great organization that I love to support. But we hit it off, I guess, on the first night, and while we didn’t immediately get together, she doesn’t have to ask me out through Youtube anymore.”_

_“So you’re saying that all anyone has to do to go on a date with you is ask you out on Youtube?”_

_“No. That’s all she had to do. No one else gets to ask me out on dates through the internet. I’m not doing that anymore.”_

She scrolls back up to look at the pictures he just sent, noticing the way he needs to button down his collar but figuring he undid that after he filmed Fallon this afternoon.

 

_Emma: Hot stuff right there. Hope you’re having fun!_

She goes back to scrolling through Pinterest, getting into a deep rabbit hole of how to do a double dutch braid and absolutely failing time and time again until she gives up and twists her hair into a regular braid that falls over her shoulders.

 

Damn, her arms hurt after having them lifted in the air for that long. Is that pathetic?

 

_Killian: I am, love. Exhausted. Isabelle and I are going to be on GMA tomorrow and then do a few others together. Then Friday I’m back to doing solo interviews._

_Killian: There’s a lot of fake smiling._

_Killian: I think my mouth may be stuck this way._

_Emma: Well, I have absolutely no use for you if you can’t use your mouth._

_Killian: Rude and totally untrue._

_Killian: I’m about to go to bed. Can I call you during your lunch break tomorrow?_

_Emma: Sure. No guarantees that I’ll answer, though._

_Killian: Love you, Swan. xx_

_Emma: Love you too. xx_

 

She was completely joking when she said there were no guarantees she would answer. She fully intended to answer, to talk to him, but she missed his call. And then he missed hers. And it was like a revolving door of calls.

 

Phone tag. That’s the name for it. It’s phone tag. They’re playing phone tag.

 

And it’s definitely not the first time they’ve done it. It happens a lot. He calls, and she doesn’t answer. She calls, and he doesn’t answer. Her voicemail gets filled with messages full of the same kind of “I’m sorry I missed you. Call me when you can, love” messages nearly every time. She’s never been in a long-distance relationship, never been in a relationship this committed on both sides, and she doesn’t know what she was expecting, but she doesn’t think it was this.

 

Mostly, she thinks that they do a good job, that they do make time for each other. She knows that she gets to see Killian a lot more often most people in her situation do simply because he doesn’t work a normal job and has the means to fly to her pretty often. The tickets aren’t exactly cheap, at least for her, and despite her not really wanting to, she has let him pay for her last few simply so that he’s not spending all of his time in Boston.

 

They miss so much of each other’s lives, of their families’ lives, and it’s so damn hard that she just wants to cry sometimes.

 

She does cry. A lot. Like, probably more than she ever has before. And while she still sometimes struggles with showing emotions, with having emotions, she knows that crying doesn’t make her weak, that being vulnerable isn’t a bad thing. It’s actually a really good thing, and she cries because she’s allowed herself to be vulnerable to someone else, allowed herself to want to be vulnerable to someone else, and sometimes she just fucking misses him.

 

Like right now.

 

She misses him a lot right now and wishes that he could be finished in New York and be on his way here today instead of on Saturday.

 

But he can’t. He has to work, she has to work, and after not seeing each other for several weeks, she’s honestly just glad that he’s going to be here at all.

 

It’s a vicious cycle, but they’re handling it. They’re handling it because they have to. They’re handling it because they want to.

 

She just wishes she didn’t have to miss so many things.

 

The rest of her day inches by slowly despite how busy it is, another quarter ending next week meaning that she’s got to start prepping the financials for the donations so they can be renewed. It’s always hell, and someone from accounting should really do it, but she’s always the one who does it for some reason. It’s honestly a miracle they haven’t been audited simply because she knows that she screws up a lot.

 

Hopefully accounting does review her documents after she turns them in.

 

She skips the gym, calling Killian instead, and by some miracle, he actually answers, even if it’s only for a few minutes before he has to run off to dinner with Isabelle and Robin. It’s nice, though, just to get to talk to him for a little while, and she’s not going to complain when she’ll see him in just over a day.

 

Just one more day.

 

* * *

 

“Bloody fuck,” Killian mutters as her front door opens and he stumbles inside, shaking out his foot and rolling his suitcase behind him. He looks up at her and grimaces, though she thinks it might honestly be an attempt at a smile. “Hello, darling. I promise I’m excited to see you, but I’ve stubbed my toe and it hurts like hell.”

 

“The great Killian Jones,” she monotones, rolling her eyes and getting up from the couch to close the door behind him, her heart beating wildly in her chest simply because he’s _here_ , “is brought down by what I assume were the front steps outside.”

 

“You assume right,” he grits, reaching down and pulling off his sneaker before massaging his toe.

 

“I’m sorry, babe,” she sighs, standing in front of him and pushing his hat off of his head so that she can glide her lips over his and feel the soft warmth that she’s been craving for so long. “That happens every now and then, and it hurts every time. I don’t know why, but it does.”

 

“Believe it or not, but I think I’ll survive.” He places his hands on her hips and tugs her closer so that she has to tighten her arms around his neck. “Hi, Swan. I am so glad to be back here.”

 

Her breath hitches, the intensity of his gaze taking her back a bit, but she adjusts, letting her lips form a smile. Why wouldn’t she? She’s so damn happy that he’s here. “I’m glad you’re here too. It’s not quite the same watching you fumble in interviews.”

  
  
She can feel the gentle slap on her hip, and it makes her chuckle under her breath almost as much as the way Killian’s staring at her with his lips parted, offense clear in his features. “I absolutely aced those interviews. Probably my best set of promotions yet.”

 

“You had a pie thrown in your face on Thursday because Isabelle knew more about your character than you did.”

 

“I didn’t remember his father’s name, which isn’t my fault because that’s honestly more in Isabelle’s script than mine, and it’s been a long time since I even filmed the brief scene where he was mentioned.”

 

“Mhm, sure. But you did do a great job describing Ezra’s journey without giving too much away. I was impressed by that.”

 

He dips his head and quickly captures her lips again, and she loses all of the breath in her lungs from the way it surprises her. She should have been expecting that, but she wasn’t. He’s got to stop literally taking her breath away because she’ll suffocate. And that won’t be romantic.

 

“I’ve gotten very good at not telling the truth without actually lying.”  


 

“I feel like that is the absolute last thing that you want to be saying to your girlfriend.”

 

“Probably, but according to the last two weeks of my life, I’m very swoon-worthy. I can get away with things like that.

 

“Yeah, that’s definitely not how that works.”

 

She presses up on her toes again, capturing his lips with hers and tilting her head to deepen the kiss. He tastes like that mint tea that he likes and she hates because of the weird smell, but she can’t say that she minds the taste right now, especially with the way his tongue moves over hers in a warm slide that makes her spine tingle more than the pedicure did the other day.

 

Making out with her boyfriend is obviously much better than getting a pedicure.

 

“So, like,” she giggles, a smile breaking out across her face while Killian continues to chase her lips, “you know, I just did laundry this morning. I washed my sheets and everything, so they’re really soft. I even bought some new pillow covers the other day.”

 

“This is quite the roundabout way to ask me to fuck you.”

 

“Who said anything about that? I just want you to see my new pillow covers.”

 

* * *

 

The world hazily comes back to her as she wakes up, the only light stemming from the brightness of Killian’s laptop as his fingers tap away, the keys clicking with each movement.

 

“What are you doing?” she mumbles, rubbing her fists into her eyes and flopping over onto her stomach so she can wrap her arms around her pillow and nuzzle into it more. “More importantly, why the hell are you awake this early?”

 

“Woke up to use the restroom and couldn’t go back to sleep. I figured I’d pay some bills and answer some emails. I’m reading through a few scripts.”

 

She props herself up on her elbows and reaches over to grab Killian’s wrist, looking at his watch that he didn’t take off last night and being shocked that it’s not even two in the morning until she remembers that Killian is three hours behind. Still, waking up before five on a Monday morning is not exactly what she would call pleasant.

 

“Babe, go back to sleep.”

 

“Not tired,” he mutters, still typing away. “But you should go back to sleep, love. You have work in a few hours.”

 

“Turn off the laptop, and I will.”

 

“Just a few more minutes.”

 

It’s not a few more minutes. It’s for the next hour, and she eventually gets up and goes into her bathroom, taking a cold shower even though she absolutely hates the way the water feels on her skin. She’s tired, though, wishes that she could have gone back to sleep, but she couldn’t. And she can’t get any of that time back no matter how much she wants to.

 

Work today is going to be a hell.

 

By the time she leaves the bathroom, her makeup applied and hair dried, the sun is peeking through her windows and Killian is nowhere to be seen, his laptop closed and resting in the middle of the mattress. She can’t help but shake her head. She’s honestly a little pissed at him, even if she has no real reason to be, but she’s tired and irritated and Killian may get some of the blame for that for the way his typing made enough noise to wake her up and keep her up.

 

She needs coffee. She just needs some kind of caffeine and maybe to take a nap on the couch in Ruby’s office. That sounds like the dream.

 

She quickly grabs a dress out of her closet, throwing it on and letting the skirt hit just above her knees before she finds the sandals that match. They’re practically falling apart, the straps buckling, and she really needs to get some new shoes.

 

These were good shoes.

 

She buckles them and walks out of her bedroom only to immediately smell coffee. God bless Killian Jones because he may have pissed her off this morning by inadvertently waking her up, but at least he’s smart enough to make her coffee.

 

“Figured you might need this,” he tells her as he hands her swan mug. “What do you want for breakfast?”

 

“I was just going to eat cereal.” She shrugs, taking a long sip of her coffee and sighing a bit even though she knows the caffeine will take awhile to kick in. “And you’re probably so tired that you are a liability when it comes to the stove anyways.”

  
  
“I can make you an omelet, Swan. I’m not going to burn your apartment down.”

  
  
“I don’t care. Just make what you want.” She waves her hand at him goes back to drinking her coffee and opening up her phone to check any of the messages she missed throughout the night. There’s not really anything, but she’s honestly just trying to wake up.

 

Killian slides her a plate with an omelet on it, nudging it in front of her phone, and she puts it down before looking up at him. How much time passed without her even realizing it?

 

“Thank you. It smells good.”

 

“No problem.” He takes a bite of his own, wiggling his fork around before popping it in his mouth. “I’m sorry that I woke you up. I should have gone in the living room, but you’re such a deep sleeper…I didn’t even think about it.”

 

“Killian,” she sighs, sitting up in her stool as she cuts up some of her food, “it’s fine. Yeah, I’m tired, and yeah, I wish I hadn’t woken up when I did. But honestly, it’s not a big deal. I sleep through the cars blaring their horns outside, so it’s weird that your typing woke me up. Why do you have so much stuff to do anyways?”

 

“I’ve basically worked for two weeks and spent the past two days with you. I haven’t had the time. Figured I’d get it all out of the way. I was reading this bloody brilliant script, though. It’s, well, it’s about this man who’s lost his wife and is going through the grieving process while also raising his young son. I don’t know, love. It’s just…I know it’s been done before, but this one is different.”

  
  
“Yeah?”

 

“Absolutely. Brilliant, I tell you. They’re filming next spring if they get all of the contracts and such down. I obviously don’t have the role, but I need to set up a meeting with the producers.”

  
  
“That’s fantastic,” she promises him, taking another bite of her food. “I bet you’ll get it, especially if they’re already interested in you.”

  
  
“I mean,” he starts, reaching up and scratching behind his ear while his tongue clicks, “maybe. I hope so.”  


 

She doesn’t want to ask, but she has to. “Do you know where they’re filming?”

 

“Canada, I believe. Rob didn’t have the city or anything, but I think that’s where it’s projected.”

 

She lets out a little sigh of relief, holding her mug up above her lips so that she doesn’t look too relieved. She feels selfish wanting to keep him here when she could never ask him to give up his job for her. He’s already done it once, and as much as that made her heart swell, made something inside of her twist at realizing just how much he loves her, she can’t let him do it again. She just can’t. He’s already so excited for this role, and all she wants is for him to get it.

 

They can figure out them when the time comes.

 

Maybe she can go to Canada. She’s always wanted to go.

 

“Let me know when your audition meeting thing is. I can run lines with you.”

  
  
“Love, you were absolutely horrendous the one time we tried that.”

  
  
“Hey,” she protests, sticking her fork up at him as she chews on her eggs, “I was okay. Obviously acting is not my calling.”

 

He winks. “Maybe with a bit of practice, my love. Are we still on for lunch at your office?”

 

“Yep. But you’ve got to bring something since I probably have to work and talk. It’s like a mad dash for the next week.”

  
  
“I believe I can do that.”

  
  
“Bring coffee too.”

  
  
“Obviously.”

 

Her head is heavy throughout the rest of her morning, the caffeine only helping to keep her functioning. She didn’t even lose that much sleep, but two hours can make such a difference when she didn’t get a lot of rest this weekend. Plus, it’s Monday, and sometimes they just suck, especially if you have a really good weekend.

 

She had a good weekend. She and Killian literally just stayed in her apartment and did nothing. Usually they like to go out and do something, but hoarding themselves away just…it’s what worked for them this time. Besides, he’s going to be here for a few more days. They have time to do whatever they want. It’s a nice luxury that they don’t always get, the weekend trips still continuing to be nothing but a tease, so it’s a nice thing to have a little more time than a jet lagged Saturday.

 

“What’s up, little bird?” Ruby asks as she steps into Emma’s office, sitting down in one of her chairs before kicking her heels off.

 

“Little bird? That’s a new one.”

 

“I was just texting Marg and called her little mama. Figured you needed to be called something different than little mama unless there’s something going on over there that you haven’t told me about. And if there is, I’m going to take away the coffee you were chugging away on this morning.”

 

She’s glad she just saved her file because she definitely just slammed down on her keyboard. “God no,” she sputters, heat rising in her cheeks that she just can’t stop, “that is not happening right now.”

  
  
“What’s not happening, Swan?”

 

She looks up to see Killian standing in her doorway, takeout bags in hand, and a part of her really does wonder if sometimes she’s living in a movie or something with the timing that sometimes happens. Looking down at her computer, though, she does see that it’s exactly one, and she shouldn’t be surprised that Killian is on time.

 

Exactly on time.

 

“You haven’t knocked her up.”

 

“Rubes,” she groans, rolling her head back so that all of her hair falls off of her shoulders and down her back, “sometimes a filter is a good thing.”

  
  
“I am simply commenting on the fact that you guys use safe sex practices, and I applaud you for them.”

 

“Ah, I feel like I’ve walked in on a rather odd conversation here.”

 

“It’s nothing, KJ.” She tries to calm the heat that’s still in her cheeks as she rolls her chair over to the other side of her desk. “Ruby is just being Ruby. I think she’s been cooped away in her office for too long. What’d you bring for lunch?”

 

“Coffee, as you requested, milady, and then I figured I’d indulge you and give you your favorite greasy foods as an extra apology for this morning.”

 

“Ooooh,” Ruby hums, “what happened this morning?”

 

“Well, you see,” she begins, trying to figure out the best way to mess with Ruby, “our sex was so rough this morning that it required more than just a condom as protection. There was also a helmet involved, maybe some knee pads, but none of it really helped when the kitchen cabinet opened and all of my pots and pans crashed down around me, banging me far worse than Killian was.”

 

“You almost had me going until you acted like you have a bunch of pots and pans because you don’t.”

  
  
“Bloody hell, lass,” Killian sputters, walking into her office and shutting the door behind him before putting the food on her desk, “you believed any of that?”

 

“Emma’s not the most vocal about her sex life. She could be into some freaky stuff.”

 

“You’re so weird, Rubes,” She laughs, shaking her head as she rolls her chair back toward the desk. “You can share my – ” She peeks into the bag, pulling out a box of onion rings. “ – onion rings with me.”

  
  
“I got some for Ruby too, love.”

  
  
“Bless you,” Ruby groans, getting up from her chair and coming to stand next to them all the while she goes back to working as well as eating. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

 

“Because I bring you food?”

  
  
“Exactly. You didn’t even know I was going to be here, and you brought me food. That is a good man.”

 

“You and Emma are kind of a packaged deal at work.”

  
  
Ruby waves a fry in Killian’s face all the while Emma watches the two of them go back and forth with each other, a bright smile on her face that she can practically feel stretching into her eyes.

 

“And don’t you forget it, Jones.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

When he got the call in the middle of August, he felt actual butterflies in his stomach. He’s always hated that turn of phrase, but oftentimes, it’s the only phrase he thinks can actually describe what it’s like to be so damn nervous that he feels as if something seriously wrong is going on in his body. He could feel it in his stomach and in his throat. Hell, he could feel it in his fingers some days.

 

He was excited.

 

He was terrified.

 

It happens sometimes. He wishes it happened more often, but honestly, he wonders if it keeps the excitement for what he does alive to get to read through scripts to find the rare gem that actually speaks to him instead of liking everything that passes over his desk. This one, though, the more he reads it, the more he thinks about it, the more he gets inside of Michael’s head…the more he wants it.

 

Which is probably why he’s about to throw up as Robin drives him over to meet with the producers and the casting directors. He’s not even really auditioning, just talking to them, but it feels like he’s doing his first audition all over again. It had been for an extra with one line in Grey’s Anatomy, and he felt as if he was attempting to prove himself to be Tom Hanks or something.

 

It was ridiculous.

 

He didn’t even get that role. It was one line. He’s pretty sure he was supposed to be ordering coffee or something.

 

His phone buzzes in his lap, and Emma’s name pops up, instantly calming him down for a moment.

 

_Emma: Go kick ass today, KJ! I love you!_

_Emma: I also love your ass, but that is totally unrelated to what I’m supposed to be telling you right now._

 

_Killian: I love you too! I’ll try to kick arse with my good arse just for you!_

_Emma: That’s all I ask._

He does kick arse if he says so himself, the meeting going far better than expected. They want him. He knew that they wanted him, but they actually, seriously want him. He’s still got to do negotiations, to work out a few details and to screen test with potential costars, but he’s got the role if he wants it. It’s all early in the preproduction stages, but damn is he excited.

 

“You look like Roland after I let him eat more than one donut,” Robin laughs as they drive away from the lot and make their way to go get lunch. “You excited?”

 

“Obviously, mate.” He pulls out his phone and texts Emma about everything, knowing that she’s at work right now and can’t really talk. He really wants to tell her anyways. “And nothing compares to your son on a sugar high. Absolutely nothing. It’s like he’s been possessed.”

 

“He has been. By sugar.” Robin pulls off of main road and down into one of the business districts. “You want to go in somewhere or do take out?”

 

“We can do take out. Just pick something out Roland will like since we’ve got to pick him up from school.”

 

“He’s not going to be hungry.”

  
  
“He is if we have any kind of junk food, and I feel like we deserve junk food.”

  
  
“Because we’ve worked so hard today?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Sure enough, when they pull up to pick-up at Roland’s elementary school, the boy climbs in the backseat, buckles himself in, and then immediately asks for some of the fries Killian is eating.

 

Like clockwork.

 

* * *

 

He swears that every Labor Day weekend his corner of Santa Monica gains at least half a million tourists. He’s sure that’s a bit excessive, but it’s only Thursday and people are absolutely everywhere. It’s to the point that he’s in the grocery store trying to stock up for the weekend, and he can’t turn anywhere without running into a cart with someone stocking up on beer and any kind of junk food he can imagine. He can’t really say much, not when he’s doing the same thing, but he absolutely cannot wait to get his things, check out, and get home before he has to drive to the airport to pick Emma up for the weekend.

 

He should have just ordered online and had his stuff delivered, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted when he thought about it the other day after he and Emma had talked.

 

Emma’s had a hell of a few weeks at work, has pretty much wanted to pull her hair out nearly every day, and even though he saw her two weeks ago before he had to come back to California to meet with the producers for this movie (he wishes they’d give it a temporary name other than Project 783 because he’s a bit tired of calling it that), she was too stressed for either of them to really enjoy it. It’s been a long summer. A good one but incredibly long.

 

He’s pretty sure there’s several songs about long hot summers, and that’s pretty much been his entire summer. With a lot of airports and Uber rides and living out of his overnight bag.

 

But Emma’s coming in today, is already on her plane, and is staying through Monday. They’ve got his premiere for Highland Waters tomorrow night, a day to themselves on Saturday, and then they’re spending Sunday out on the Jolly with his family, Anna and Kris included. He’s pretty sure Anna has texted him at least five times a day double checking that Emma is definitely going to be here this weekend. Despite how much time Emma has spent with Elsa, she keeps missing Anna.

 

Anna is not okay with it in the slightest. Sometimes he thinks she’s been his sister-in-law for his entire life instead of five years with the way she treats him. She’s refreshing, and he’s completely sure that she and Emma need to meet on soft ground for when Anna inevitably tackles her.

 

Yeah, she’s definitely going to tackle Emma.

 

After he finally checks out and loads his groceries in the car, he drives home a little faster than he should and quickly puts everything away. He’ll have to tidy it all up later, but he needs to go ahead and make his way to LAX because he already knows that traffic will be awful. It nearly always it, and this weekend is going to make it worse.

 

Sure enough, he’s late to show up, but he hasn’t gotten a text from Emma letting him know that she’s landed, so he parks in hourly parking and makes his way inside, taking the long route to avoid the photographers that stake out at the exit nearest to the parking lot. He doesn’t see her anywhere, but considering it’s at least thirty times more insane than the grocery store in this small corner of the airport, he doesn’t exactly expect to right away.

 

_Killian: Have you landed?_

_Emma: Yeah, but we’re taxiing right now._

_Emma: My legs are so stiff, and the man next to me has talked for this entire flight._

_Emma: Ah, shit. He just asked if I’d get dinner with him._

_Emma: Why are people so weird?_

_Killian: What did you say?_

_Emma: Obviously I said yes._

_Killian: Bring me some takeout from wherever you go._

He keeps texting back and forth with her until the texts stop and he’s left simply standing there watching and just waiting for her to show up somewhere.

 

“Hi, hi, hi,” Emma sighs as she jogs up to him at the airport, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding onto him as he tugs her closer, the bill of her baseball cap rubbing into his cheek with the sudden embrace. “How long have you been waiting here? It took forever taxiing after we landed, and then I had to pee, which I pretty much refuse to do on the plane which was hard because I had coffee…and yeah. Sorry for being late.”

 

“I absolutely do not mind,” he promises, quickly brushing his lips over hers as many times as he can before things turn inappropriate in a very public place. “Even if you were obviously going out to dinner with that man. I’ve just been watching people get black suitcase after black suitcase mixed up with other people’s very similar suitcases.”

 

“Sounds like quality entertainment.”

  
  
“Right? Your flight’s luggage is coming out on this belt in front of me, so yours should be here soon. I’m surprised you didn’t do carry-on.”

 

She shrugs, pulling back from him and tightening the plaid shirts that’s wrapped around her waist. “Too much stuff. I wasn’t exactly sure what to wear tomorrow, and Ruby convinced me to bring…a lot. I figured you could help. Plus, my foundation went over the TSA limit for liquids weirdly enough, which I found out at security. That was a fun time.”

  
  
“Sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure, Swan.”

  
  
“I have. Look, there’s my suitcase. Let’s go.”

 

Emma practically jogs off to get her luggage, and he wonders just how much coffee she’s already consumed this morning. It’s got to be quite a bit, and he knows that she’s definitely going to crash in the middle of this afternoon. But it doesn’t matter. She’s here. She’s here, and he’s absolutely convinced that they’re going to have a wonderful Labor Day weekend with all of the plans that they’ve been making.

 

He hasn’t been this excited for a weekend in a long time.

 

* * *

 

“I like this,” he croons as he walks up to Emma at the counter in his bathroom that he’s come to think of as her counter. All of her stuff is there, the things she leaves behind both on accident and on purpose, including the damn toothbrush she ordered replacements heads for and had them sent here instead of to her home. He’d already signed up for the refurbishment ones, but he didn’t let her knows that when she texted him about the delivery. So now he has an entire dentist’s office worth of toothbrushes.

 

“Thank you.” She finishes putting her earring in and then turns around. “If I move from side to side, the fringe shakes.” She demonstrates for him, twisting and turning so that the white fringe on her dress moves with her, and he’s about as fascinated with it as he is with the smile on Emma’s face. It’s almost like she’s living some kind of childhood moment she never got right now, and all he can think is how happy he is that she’s happy. And how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

 

He’s known it for awhile even if they’re not there yet, but he’s there. And he’s perfectly happy to go at Emma’s pace. He knows that she’s it for him. All this summer, the months of flying back and forth, of getting brief moments of time together and even more talking on the phone, it’s been difficult, but it’s kind of reaffirmed things for him on what he wants out of life. Emma’s not the first woman he’s been in love with, she’s not even the second or the third, but she’s _it_  in every big sense of such a small word. He somehow…somehow he just knows it with every fiber in his being.

 

God, he loves her. More than anything.

 

“See?” Emma laughs, looking up at him as the fringe stops moving, resting back in place and framing her body. “I bought this dress forever ago and have never worn it. It looks okay for the premiere, right?”

 

“You look stunning, my love,” he promises, taking her hands and kissing her knuckles so he won’t mess up her makeup. His lips move along the skin of her hands until he’s kissing her wrist, right on the small black dot. “And this is perfect.”

 

“Thanks. You look nice too. Very handsome but,” she reaches up and runs her hands through his hair a little bit, “your hair is too flat. You gotta add a little life to it.”

 

“How embarrassing will it be for me to admit that I usually have someone do my hair for things like this?”

 

“Only a little,” she laughs, continuing to mess with his hair, which feels far too good than it has any right to feel. “Why didn’t you for tonight?”

 

“Smaller event. I’m not even wearing a tie or anything.”

  
  
Emma rolls her eyes before turning around and picking up her lipstick and reapplying the red, her tongue poking out the slightest bit. “You are obviously in shambles.”

 

“Thank you for your never ending support.”

  
  
He can see her wink in the mirror. “Always.”

 

The show sends him a driver, which he really didn’t understand for something like tonight when it’s simply a miniseries premier and not a movie, but he’s not going to complain about not having to worry about how much he’s had to drink when thinking about them getting home. So he thanks Steve, before helping Emma into the back of the car, her dress seemingly always in movement, and loading in himself.

 

Robin’s waiting for him when they pull up to the hotel where they’re hosting this thing tonight, and Steve drops them off at the front entrance where he can see Isabelle getting out of her car as well. Apparently, the producers are trying to schmooze them one last time.

 

“You ready, darling?” he asks Emma, taking her hand in his, lacing their fingers together as Robin walks them through the front doors.

  
  
“Yep,” she says quietly, her eyes darting around the room that’s bursting with people. “This is kind of weird.”

  
  
“Aye, I know. It’s pretty unconventional.”

  
  
“A pipe burst down at the theater where they were going to do this,” Robin explains, “and they’re having to redo all of the upholstery. And this was a good last-minute option even if things are a little unconventional for it being a show.”

 

“That’s shitty luck.”

 

“It is, but this is a nicer place if I’m honest.” They walk into one of the ballrooms, and there’s a wall set up for them to take pictures by, a group of photographers and journalists already taking pictures and interviewing some of his costars. “Jones, you know what to do here. Take your picture alone, then some with Isabelle, and then you’ve got one interview at the end. Emma, you can stay with me if you want to.”

 

He looks over to Emma, and she nods her head, smiling at him even if her eyes are blown a little wide. “You going to be okay, darling?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She squeezes his hand before releasing it. “Go do your thing, KJ.”

 

So he does, standing and taking pictures, alternating between smiling and staring at the cameras with an emotionless look. This, to him, has always been one of the most awkward parts of his job. It’s not the interviews. It’s standing alone and having people take pictures of him. So he’s eternally thankful for when Isabelle finishes hers and comes to stand next to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and smiling.

 

“You’ve got these crazy eyes going on right now, Jones,” she laughs, all the while her pose never fades. “I’d try straightening those out.”

 

“It’s the damn flashes and the way it’s far too dark in here.”

 

“You’re supposed to be a professional,” she teases. “Get it together.”

 

“I would, but your shoes are just so bright that I’ve been blinded.”

 

She hits his back – hard – and he laughs while they continue to move across the small carpet until they separate to do their own interviews. She’s one of his favorite costars, someone who he actually likes to talk to outside of work, and even though they’ve been finished filming for months, he knows he’s going to miss her when she flies back home to New Zealand instead of staying here.

 

When he’s finished talking, having gone through Ezra’s entire backstory once again as well as explaining just how excited he is for the miniseries to begin, he makes his way through the doors, figuring that’s where he’s supposed to go. It’s definitely different than he’s used to, not at all familiar, so he waits inside the impromptu theater that he’s just stumbled into until Robin and Emma also come through the doors with smiles on both of their faces. Good.

 

“You want to get something to drink, KJ?” Emma asks, coming up to him and poking her fingers at his chest. “Because I know for a fact that you hate watching yourself on screen, and I feel like you are going to need a couple glasses of rum for that.”

  
  
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

 

“No,” she promises, wrapping her arms around his neck while he rests his on her hips, feeling the soft material of her dress under his fingertips, “I am not. I’m just trying to make life more bearable for all of us before you whine and moan all about your performance in the show.”

 

“She’s right, mate,” Robin laughs. “You’re going to give us all hell this entire time.”

  
  
“See?” she nudges, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and pleasantly scratching his skin. “You need something to drink. Plus, I think there may be food.”

 

“Swan, I would never dare bring you somewhere without food. I’m not a madman with a death wish.”

 

“That’s a good plan for you.”

 

After they get their drinks and Emma finds herself some food (“They have mini cheeseburgers, KJ. I knew your job wasn’t worthless.”), they settle themselves down into their seats while people continue to move around them. Isabelle comes to sit next to Emma, and they absolutely hit it off. It’s wonderful, even if most of it is them teasing him, but Emma’s just got this smile on her face, her eyes lighting up with joy…and it’s all he wants. He wants her to be happy, and if it means him suffering through being made fun of and having to watch himself on screen, it’s completely and totally worth it.

 

Plus, there are other scenes that he’s not in, and those are okay to watch. Those are brilliant to watch because it’s a bloody brilliant show. Emma gasps in all the right places, laughing at all of the totally inappropriate places when he’s doing something like sword fighting, and she spends the entire time whispering a live commentary in his ear that has his stomach rolling while he stifles his laughter in her hair and in her shoulder as he runs his lips across her bare shoulders every time he gets a chance. She smells like her hairspray, her perfume, and a little bit of rum on her breath. He enjoys the spice of it.

 

He enjoys her.

 

“That was brilliant,” Emma sighs when it’s over while the room claps. “Is there any way you can get me the entire thing, like, right now? I kind of want to know what happens next without you giving me spoilers.”

 

“I don’t think I have that power.”

 

She groans, stretching out her legs in the seat while her head falls back. “What good are you?”

 

“I thought we already established that the sliders you consumed earlier were what I was good for.”

  
  
“That’s what your job is useful for. You, on the other hand, need to be worth something.”

 

“I’ll just have to think on that, love.”

 

He’s not sure if he ever comes up with something he can be good for since he can’t get Emma the entire season on Highland Waters, but he does get her some more food and a refill on her drink as everyone settles around the bar, chatter and laughter filling the room while music plays on the speakers overhead. He’s not exactly sure who all is here, most of the faces unrecognizable to him, so he assumes they’re executives instead of the crew he was so familiar with while filming. He would recognize the crew.

 

“So tell me,” Isabelle sighs as she comes up to he and Emma in the lounge by the bar, the wine in her glass sloshing around, “how in the world does Killian Jones get someone who is such a catch like Emma here?”

 

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Emma teases, settling herself down on his thigh while he wraps his free arm around her waist, the other hand holding his glass.

 

“You have literally known her for three hours, Isabelle.”

 

“Yes, but in those three hours, she has informed me that you organize your fridge and pantry as well as everything else in your house like you’re in some kind of organization club.”

  
  
“I am not embarrassed by the fact that I’m organized. Emma should be embarrassed by how much of a slob she is.”

  
  
“Hey,” Emma laughs, adjusting herself in his lap while she slaps his hand over her stomach, “I am not a slob. I’m not a slob,” she repeats to Isabelle, “and really, the weirdest thing about Killian is definitely that he eats his salad without combining ingredients. Like, if there are strawberries in there, he eats all of them before moving onto the lettuce.”

  
  
“That’s not weird.”

  
  
“That’s really weird, Jones. I can guarantee it’s not the weirdest thing about you, but it’s pretty weird.” Someone calls out her name, and Isabelle looks away, practically tripping over her own heels even as she stands still. “I’ve got to go, but I’m going to come back and find you guys later.”

  
  
“So she’s drunk, right? She can’t actually that clumsy all of the time, and if she is, that was incredible acting in that first episode.”

 

“She’s definitely a bit intoxicated,” he chuckles, tilting his head to the side and brushing his lips across her jaw and down her neck while she moves and gives him more access to her skin, little moans escaping her lips. Bless her. “I think we may be too, but we’re sitting down.”

 

“Because we’re, ah,” she gasps when he bites down on her skin, and it sends a shiver down to the base of his spine, “intellectuals.”

 

“Big word there.”

 

“You really are drunk if you think that’s a big word.”

He hums, leaning back in the chair and yanking her back with him so that she giggles, the sound high and lilting even with all of the sounds in the room. “I think we should go home, Swan,” he growls into her ear as his finger start moving over her stomach, wishing the damn fringe wasn’t in the way. He loved it at the beginning of the night, loved the way it made Emma feel, loved the way it hugged her curves, but he’d really rather she not be wearing it right now.

 

“I think that sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

They load back into the car and get a ride home from Steve. He can’t say he’s ever made out with a girl in the backseat of a car, not since he was a teenager and Liam would have lost his mind had he and Hannah Kirpatrick been in the house, but now as a thirty-three-year-old man, he does just that. She tastes like the spice of the rum they’ve both been drinking, maybe a bit like the chocolate she ate right before they left, grabbing it on the way out the door, and it’s intoxicating as always as her lips move against his over and over again.

 

They’re probably scarring poor Steve, but he honestly doesn’t care when there’s a white fringe dress on the floor of his living room.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so remind me that I am not twenty-two anymore the next time we decide to go out and drink so much,” Emma groans when she wakes up the next morning, her voice far too loud for how much pain he’s in.

 

“You’re talking far too loudly.”

 

“Oh my God, so are you.”

 

He chuckles, even as his head pounds, and wraps his arms further around his pillow, burying his face in the softness while he tries to will everything away. “You are nearly five years younger than me, so you’re much closer to twenty-two and not feeling dead from drinking too much.”

 

“You have a bigger body mass. Harder to get drunk.”

 

He kicks out on the other side of his bed until he finds flesh with his foot. He’s honestly not sure what part of Emma’s body he’s kicking, but he doesn’t care. “Rude,” he mumbles into his pillow, turning a bit and opening one eye just so he can see her stretched out as well, her hair covering her face from his view. “You’re not supposed to comment on a man’s body mass.”

 

“You’re taller than me and weigh more. Your body mass is bigger. It’s not an insult.” He kicks at her again until she yelps. “I hate you so much.”

 

“You don’t.”

  
  
“I do.”

  
  
“Will you still hate me if I go make us some hangover food?”

 

“Pancakes with chocolate chips and whipped cream would be acceptable. And coffee. And bacon. It has to be cooked in the oven and not the microwave though.”

 

“Bloody hell,” he grumbles, rolling over in bed and letting his eyes adjust to the light, “how are you being so specific about what you want?”

  
  
“I am a specific type of person.”

 

“Okay,” he sighs, slowly getting up from bed and letting his eyes adjust to light, “I will go make us all of that food, but I’m also going to make you eat some fruit, yeah?”

 

“Fine, Mary Margaret. I will eat all of my food groups.”

  
  
“Don’t tease Mary Margaret when she’s got a good point. Besides, you eat salads all the damn time.”

  
  
“Not when I’m miserably hungover and not picking everything out like you do.”

 

He’s miserable pretty much the entire time that he’s making breakfast, the medicine he took and coffee he’s drinking helping a small bit. Emma eventually joins him, her hair wrapped up in a towel on the top of her head while she’s changed into the sleep shorts she likes and one of his older t-shirts that she must have gotten out of one of the drawers in his closet. Misery loves company, so as he and Emma grumble and groan all while waiting for their food to be cooked, it’s not quite as miserable as it was.

 

Or maybe it is. He did drink a hell of a lot of rum yesterday.

 

But eventually he feels less like death and more like a human being. The food helps, even if he does have a lingering headache, but honestly the fact that they hoard themselves away in his bedroom with his curtains closed to block out the sun and do nothing but hide out under the covers while the rest of the country likely has a nice Labor Day Saturday helps the most. Plus, Emma grabbed bags of chips out of his pantry and brought them upstairs with her so they really don’t have to leave his room at all.

 

Except to go get water. Neither of them thought about water when they both really need it.

 

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Emma speaks out of nowhere, making him turn his head to face her. She’s got a bag of salt and vinegar chips in her lap, something he already knows makes her tongue break out because his does the same, not that she cares about that, and if he were to shake out his comforter, he knows there’d be crumbs everywhere.

 

“For what, sweetheart?”

 

She shrugs, the bit of sunlight that’s peeking through the window casting across her face and hitting the green of her eyes, making them shine even more brightly than usual. “For your premiere yesterday, for getting the role for that movie that doesn’t have a name yet. I totally think it should be called After Life, though. People will think it has supernatural stuff in it when it doesn’t. It’ll just be about what happens _after life_   is over for someone you love.”

 

He laughs, scooting up on the mattress and inching closer to her, nearly sitting up himself. “I’ll have to tell the producers that. Get you a paycheck for the name and everything.”

 

“Always looking out for me.”

  
  
“Undoubtedly.”

 

“But I’m also just…” she sighs, her entire body heaving with the movement, and it’s what gets him to sit up against the headboard with her. “I’m proud of you for who you are, for getting this life for yourself, for not letting your past define you any more than it has to.”

  
  
“Emma, what’s all this about?”

 

“Nothing,” she promises, putting the chips on the table next to her while he watches her features, watches to see if there’s anything she’s not telling him. “I don’t know why, but I was thinking about the Sorellino’s, about how I was late because of work, and how at the end of the night you told me how proud you were of me. That meant so much to me, probably more than I can ever tell you, but I also realized that I never told you how proud I am of you for the life that you’ve built.”

 

Emotion lodges itself in his throat, as do the words he wants to say in response. He remembers that night. How could he not? He remembers telling Emma how proud he was of her, remembers the way her eyes lit up and her lips trembled a bit, and he also remembers her telling him that his mum would be proud of him if she were here to see him. And while he doesn’t think what he does is changing the world, he’s glad that he does what he loves. Emma telling him that his mum would be proud of him, well, that was just the same if not better than anything else she could have said.

 

It doesn’t change the fact that he can feel his entire body heat all the while thinking about Emma and how she thinks him to be a man who she’s proud of, a man who she wants to be with despite all of his shortcomings and failures.

 

“Thank you, my love.” He leans over and brushes his lips over hers, tasting the chips she’s been eating.

 

“You taste like onions,” she groans, her entire demeanor lightening instantly so that he laughs against her lips.

 

“You taste like vinegar, so you really can’t complain.”

 

“Lucky for you, I do have a fancy toothbrush compared to your regular, manual one.”

 

“You and that damned toothbrush, Swan.”

 

She winks, reaching over and grabbing the big of chips before popping a large on in her mouth. “You’re really going to appreciate it when I eat this entire family-sized bag of chips all by myself in the next hour.”

 

“Those were for you and Anna for tomorrow. She’s going to kill you before she even meets you.”

 

“Don’t be so salty, KJ.” Emma pops another chip into her mouth while he groans, scrunching up his face. “Totally worth using the word salty for the look on your face right now.”


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I look at the summary of this story and am just kind of like…that is not at all what this story is about anymore. But hey, it’s what the original prompt was about, so it works! Anyways, happy Tuesday! I hope you all have a great week!

“What’s the weather going to be like today?”

 

“Look it up on your phone.”

 

“I am shaving my legs right now. Don’t exactly have access to my phone.”

 

She keeps running her razor over her calf, trying to make sure she’s not going to end up with a nasty cut that’ll just get irritated by the salt water, when Killian pops his head in the shower, a giant smile covering his entire face while his eyes trace up and down her body. It makes a quick shiver run down her spine until she remembers that she’s still got to shave her entire left leg. He is not stopping her from getting this done.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Choosing to look at you while I’m talking instead of yelling over the spray of the water.”

  
  
“I think you are just choosing to look at me because I’m naked.”

 

He winks, running his tongue over his bottom lip in what has to be the most exaggerated motion she’s ever seen. “Exactly.”

 

“I’m literally going to be wearing as little as possible all day long. I think you’ll get your viewing of skin without a problem.”

  
  
“Yes, but in front of my family. I can’t ravish you there.”

  
  
“And you’re not going to ravish me now.” She waves her razor in his face, and he backs up a bit, laughing at her silent threat. He totally shouldn’t be laughing at her silent threat. It wasn’t even really a threat. She just wants to have smooth legs. He should want her to have smooth legs too. It feels better that way even if it’s so damn annoying to shave.

 

“Got it, got it,” he sighs, resting his hip against the wet stone. “I was just going to tell you that it’s going to be seventy-five today with a nice breeze. There are maybe going to be a few clouds, but it’ll mostly be a sunny day.”

  
  
“Thank you, Al Roker.” She leans forward and pats his cheek before quickly kissing him. “Now let me shave in peace, and I’ll let you help pick out which bikini I wear today.”

 

“You are a kind woman who I very much love.” He waggles his brows, moving them across his forehead before he grabs onto her wrist and kisses her tattoo in the way that she’s grown so fond of over the past few months. It always makes her stomach do some kind of weird twist before everything rights itself. Then he’s ducking his head away and closing the shower door behind him.

 

“Weirdo,” she mumbles under her breath while continuing to shave. Smooth legs. She’s going to have smooth legs for today.

 

Along with her invention for drying hair without getting overheated, she’s also got to figure out something for hair removal. She knows there’s shaving, waxing, and laser hair removal or whatever, but there’s just got to be something less time consuming, less painful, and less expensive.

 

Obviously, her plan needs a lot of work.  

 

After she finally finishes shaving and rinsing her conditioner out of her hair, she turns the water off and gets out of the shower, patting herself down with the towel she had hanging over the door. She felt like death all day yesterday, the drinks at Killian’s premiere hitting her a little harder than she thought they would, but she feels fine today. Good, even. Okay, she’s really excited to get to spend the day out on the ocean with Killian and his family.

 

Six months ago, that thought would have terrified her, but now, she honestly can’t think of a better way to spend the day. She’s really grown to like getting to go out on the Jolly (even if she does still think that Killian is absolutely ridiculous in naming his boat that) and letting the salt water of the ocean get in her eyes no matter what she does to shield herself from it. Seriously, her sunglasses do nothing for her out there.

 

She loves it.

 

Her suitcase is open on the floor of the bathroom, having never moved from when she dragged it upstairs on Friday, and at the top of all of her clothes is the bright coral bikini that Ruby made her pack. It’s pretty much nothing, and it figures that Killian would pick it out. She should have just known. He’s a man after all. And she did tell him he could pick it out.

 

She’s totally going to get him to wear the blue trunks he has the hug his thighs and ass really tightly when they get wet.

 

What’s fair is fair after all.

 

“Babe,” she calls out after she’s changed, throwing on her jean shorts and tank top and braiding her hair while it dries. He doesn’t call back, so she leaves the bathroom, calling for him until she figures that he’s downstairs and can’t hear her. “KJ,” she says as she bounds down the stairs and runs into the kitchen, hearing his speaker playing music and following it, “if I have to wear the skimpy orange one than you have to wear the blue ones. It shows off your ass, and I – oh.”

 

Standing in the kitchen is Killian’s entire family, all of them staring at her with different amused expressions littering their faces. She definitely should just never assume that she and Killian are home alone. Like, ever. She just said something about his ass. In front of his family.

 

At least she’s wearing clothes and not showing off her actual ass. That’s already happened once. She at least had a Christmas sweater on…that might have made it worse. That definitely made it worse.

 

“Oh my God, you’re Emma,” Anna calls out, practically scrambling off of her stool until she’s attacked with a hug by Anna, her arms so tight around her that she can’t breathe for a second. Seriously. She can’t breathe. “I’m so excited to meet you.”

 

“I’m excited to meet you too,” she laughs, looking over Anna’s shoulder to see Killian shrugging from where he’s standing next to the fridge, a cooler on the counter next to him. “I kind of thought it was never going to happen.”

 

“I know,” Anna squeals, releasing Emma from her hug only to place her hands on Emma’s shoulder where she intently stares at her. Like, really stares. It’s kind of weird and a little bit intense. “You’re just as pretty in person as you are in the pictures.”

 

“Um thanks?” she laughs, feeling the blush rise on her cheeks. “You are too.”

 

“Oi, Anna,” Liam calls out while he slathers Aiden down in what she assumed is his sunscreen, “leave the girl alone. I know for a fact that she doesn’t like to be ambushed in this kitchen.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Killian teases, winking at her from across the room. He’s right. She doesn’t mind when it’s him. It’s the other people that she doesn’t like. Well, she likes them, but she doesn’t like them scaring the shit out of her in the kitchen. “Just yesterday – ”

 

“Nope,” Kris starts, holding his hand up. “I love you all, but I am not listening to this. I’m Kris, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” She gives him a small wave before walking across the room, hugging Elsa and squeezing Aiden’s hand along the way, until she’s standing next to Killian and pressing up on her toes so she can whisper in his ear. “Why didn’t you tell me your family was here?”

 

“They’re early,” he sighs, his breath hot against her skin, and it doesn’t help with how keyed up she is despite telling Killian no to sex earlier. She was serious about wanting to get her legs shaved. “Because I’d really like to hear all about how you think my arse looks in the blue trunks, and I’d like to see you in the coral bikini.”

 

“You should have left them outside then.”

 

“Liam has a key.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Good point.” She falls back on her feet and turns to everyone else. “So you guys ready to go?”

 

* * *

 

“Hot damn,” Elsa whistles as Emma takes her shirt off once Killian has the boat settled out on the water at a nice resting place. “You have me reconsidering my theory that I really don’t need to be working out.”

 

“Oh God,” she groans, crossing her arms over her chest to try to make herself smaller. She’s proud of her body and knows Elsa’s just being nice, but it doesn’t mean she’s the biggest fan of everyone looking at her. And everyone is definitely looking at her. Can’t a large bird fly by or something to distract everyone? Maybe a shark swimming by would be good too. “You look great. Seriously. I have a very small social life and a boyfriend who lives nowhere near me. It’s either eat or go to the gym.”

 

“I like to go to the gym so that I can eat,” Anna adds in as she grabs a beer out of the cooler. “I bake far too much not to, and I’m on my feet most of the time so it helps. But yeah, Elsa is right. Hot damn.” She shakes her head back and forth, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth and pulling her sunglasses down to cover her eyes. She doesn’t even know what to say back to that, but as she’s learned in the past hour, Anna will fill in any awkward gaps. “How does the long-distance thing work? I mean, I’m pretty sure Kris and I have never spent more than a week apart, and you guys basically spend…all of your time apart.”

 

“Anna,” Elsa sighs, shooting her a sympathetic glance, “I’m sure Emma and Killian don’t really want to talk about that.”

 

She doesn’t. It’s really damn hard, and all she wants to do today is enjoy being here. She wants to enjoy today and the way the sun is beating down on her skin while she gets a tan drinking beer and spending the day with Killian. She can’t think about what it’s like having to go home because it hurts too damn much sometimes.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m just curious.”

  
  
“You’re curious about a lot of things, babe,” Kris adds in, “which is great. It’s what makes you so wonderful and one of the reasons why I love you.”

 

“You’re sweet.”

 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Killian begins, moving out of the shielded area where he’s been doing whatever technical thing he does when they’re anchored. She’s not really sure. She hasn’t gotten the chance to actually learn a lot about boating. “Why is it that I am mercilessly teased when I so much as tell Emma that she looks nice today, but you all can be cheesy as hell?”

 

“Because you’re the youngest,” nearly every person on the boat yells in one way or another.

 

“And I will get gray hair after every single one of you,” he huffs, plopping down on the seat next to her so that his shorts pull up his thighs as his muscles flex. “Bloody arseholes.”

 

“Poor baby,” she mock sighs, not even able to hide the smile that’s tugging on her lips as she runs her hands through his hair. “Are the big kids on the playground teasing you?”

 

He rolls his eyes, before he’s pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes leaning over her and grabbing her water bottle before he takes a sip. “I am going to kick you all off of this damn boat except for the sleeping baby down below.”

 

“How are you going to do that _little_   brother? I think you’ll probably be the first person in the water.”

 

“Shove off.”

 

“Play nice,” she laughs, realizing that there’s actually some tension in Killian’s jaw and that he’s holding onto her knee a little too tightly. She’s not sure when exactly he actually got frustrated, but he is. “You okay, KJ?”

 

“Yeah,” he sighs, even as she sees his jaw tick again, the set as straight as she’s ever seen, “I’m fine, sweetheart.”  
  


She studies him for a minute, wishing that he didn’t have his sunglasses on at this exact moment so she could see the blue in his eyes. They’d probably look really nice with the ocean all around them. “Okay, so I was thinking…” she begins to distract him, wrapping her arm around his waist and sliding her hand under the hem of the button down he still hasn’t taken off. He has rolled the sleeves up, which is hotter than it has any right to be, but he hasn’t taken it off. “I was thinking that we play some music, eat our lunch, and then we get into the water. But, like, just for a little while because I’m still not entirely convinced that I’m not going to get a limb eaten by a shark.”

 

“That is not going to happen.”

 

“It could. You never know. I could also get stung by a jellyfish, attacked by a dolphin, and I hear whales aren’t necessarily friendly. Then again, we are invading their home, and I feel like maybe we deserve it.”

 

“So when Liam is having to pee on your leg because you’ve been stung by a jellyfish, you want me to tell you that you deserved it?”

 

“Why the bloody hell am I the one peeing on her leg?” Liam laughs, his cheeks already tinted in red from the sun. “I mean, no offense, love, I just feel like we don’t have the type of relationship where I can pee on your leg and we come back from that.”

 

“This is true. It’s going to have to be you, babe. Or Elsa and Anna.”

 

“Wait. You just met Anna today. That’s not a great first impression. Also, what makes you think we can come back from that, Swan?”

 

“I’d do it,” Anna adds in.

 

“Me too.”

 

“Women aren’t hung up on quite the same things as you guys are,” Elsa sighs, standing up from her seat and stretching her arms. “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.”

 

“I’m honestly just offended that my own boyfriend won’t pee on my leg to help my jellyfish sting.”

 

“Oh my God,” Killian groans, reaching up and running his hand through his hair, “this has gotten ridiculous. Darling, if I need to pee on your leg, I will.”

 

She pats his stomach. “That’s all I ask.”

 

The day passes slowly, nearly everything happening leisurely. Anna talks more than anyone she’s ever met, and it’s so damn entertaining that she absolutely hates that she hasn’t gotten to know her before. The water stays calm, and no one else seems to pass them, so Killian lets the music play loudly after Liam gets Aiden from below deck. They have him in the smallest of life jackets, the name Jones monogrammed against the back, and for a brief moment, she has this want deep in her belly for her to have something like that one day too. She doesn’t let it last long, though. She can’t. It’s a little too overwhelming for her today, and she wants the lightness of the day to continue.

 

While everyone else moves around, the bow becoming a bit too small for them, she leans back on the cushions, letting the sun lull her into a sense of comfort, making her sleepy while Killian stretches out on his stomach beside her, head rested on his forearms. She twists over onto her stomach as well, ignoring the moment that her skin hits metal, until she can run her fingers over Killian’s back, tracing the muscles there without bothering to look. She’s got the ocean stretched out in front of her. She can look at Killian’s back anytime.

 

She knows the dips and curves of it well enough anyhow.

 

“Have you applied lotion recently?”

 

Killian twists his head to the side and opens his uncovered eyes, the blue somehow even better than the blue of the ocean. Something seems genetically unfair there, but she’s not going to complain when she gets to benefit from it. “About an hour ago. You?”

 

“Same. Just don’t want you getting a sunburn or cancer or something.”

 

“Thanks, love.” He leans forward and quickly slants his lips over hers before moving to rest his hands on his forearms again. “What’s everyone else doing?”

 

“I believe they’re all eating in the shade.”

 

“You’re not even looking. How do you know that?”

 

“Wait for it,” she laughs, digging her nail into his back until he lets out a guttural groan that shoots straight to her core.

 

“I’m waiting to get to take you back home. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to be waiting for.”

 

“Jones,” Anna shrieks, immediately running over to them until she’s standing above them with an empty bag, “where the hell are my salt and vinegar chips?”

 

“Emma ate them all yesterday.”

 

“Hey,” she gasps, slapping his back, “why are you going to just sell me out like that?”

 

“Because you were about to do the same to me.”

 

“I was not.”

 

“You so were.”

 

“Who cares? I just want the chips,” Anna whines, plopping down next to them. “There’s only crumbs in here.”

 

“I’ll send you, like, a million bags of chips when we get back,” she promises Anna, kissing in between Killian’s shoulder blades before they both sit up. “I may have eaten them all when I was hungover yesterday.”

 

“You’re lucky I like you. I don’t play about my chips.”

 

“You could always just throw her to the sharks if you’re really mad at her,” Killian teases, and she immediately reaches over to slap his back again. Maybe she shouldn’t be so playfully violent…that’s probably not the best trait. But he also just said Anna could sacrifice her to, you know, die. “Bloody hell, you know I don’t mean that.”

 

“Yeah, he’d be lost without you, lass,” Liam shouts from across the boat, and she can feel her entire stomach rumble with laughter as all of Killian’s family begins to tease him.

 

He huffs behind her until his chin rests on her shoulder, nuzzling into her skin, his scruff prickling against her until gooseflesh rises over her arms and her legs. She leans back into his touch while his arms wrap around her waist, fingers splaying across her bare stomach.

 

It feels damn good.

 

“I love you, KJ,” she whispers, kissing his cheek when she can practically feel his irritation as his family continues to talk.

 

“I love you too, darling,” he says softly before yelling out, “and I hate all of you except for Aiden and possibly Kris. I don’t know. It depends on the hour.”

 

* * *

 

“Oooh, I love this song,” she gasps as she turns the radio’s volume up and lets the sounds of Hozier’s voice fill Killian’s car while he drives them back to his house.

 

 She’s exhausted, the sun having drained out all of the energy out of her as they day stretched out into night, but she’s getting little bursts of energy as she scrolls through her phone. She didn’t have any signal all day, so she’s catching up on everything she missed online before she gets into the massive amount of texts that are still popping in. Ruby must be drunk texting. It happens all the time, and then she gets strings of every thought that Ruby has ever had. Usually there’s some interesting things in there, but it can wait for right now.

 

When Killian pulls into the garage, she leaves her phone in her bag, letting it fall with all of her junk, as she helps him carry the cooler inside. It’s still got a bunch of drinks inside, so it’s heavy as hell and her arms are feeling weak by the time they get it into kitchen. She really is tired.

 

“You’ve burned on your cheeks, love,” Killian sighs, walking over to her and swiping his thumbs across her cheeks, his thumbs rough against the skin. “I can also see more freckles.”

 

“Really? Because I applied lotion about ten different times. I felt like that was all I did.”

 

“It’s because you’re so fair.”

 

“Ugh, I know. I’ve known that my entire life.” She leans her cheek into, letting her eyes flutter closed. “I’m going to go shower. You want to join me?”

 

“Why is that even a question?”

 

“It was rhetorical.”

 

She’s in no way a fan of shower sex. There are too many accidents that can happen even with Killian’s stone shower, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy getting to take a relaxing shower that’s full of teasing with Killian as she arranges suds over his beard much to his annoyance. Maybe she really is deliriously tired or maybe it was just a good day. She doesn’t know and she doesn’t care as she stumbles out of the shower with Killian until they fall into bed and absolutely defeat the purpose of them getting clean.

 

It’s totally worth it as Killian’s lips move over her nipples, teasing her and making her skin tingle in a way that the sun never could, and it’s even more worth it as he continues to move against her, working her up while working his way down her body.

 

Yeah, definitely worth it.

 

Afterward, when she’s sated and there’s a pink on her cheeks that has nothing to do with her sunburn, she crawls out of bed, much to Killian’s protest as his hand reaches for her, fingers grazing the skin of her inner thigh. She’s kind of cold, the air conditioning in his house not helping the chill that’s coming from her skin, she so she pulls on some leggings and a t-shirt before brushing through her tangled, still damp hair. It’s an absolute mess, and she really can’t leave it like this or she’ll have to shave her head.

 

That would be tragic.

 

“Babe?” she calls out, twisting a towel around her hair to dry it.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do you know where I left my phone?” She walks back into the bedroom where Killian’s stripping the comforter and sheets off. They’re honestly probably damp, and she’s glad that he’s doing that.

 

“I don’t. Hell, I don’t even know where my phone is.”

 

She groans, pulling her towel away from her hair and tossing it into his laundry pile. “I’m going to go downstairs and check through my bag for it. I’ll look for yours too while you put those in the dryer.”

 

He nods as she walks away, quickly running down the stairs and searching through the living room for her bag only to find nothing. She goes through the entryway and the kitchen before she decides to check Killian’s car. Sure enough, it’s sitting on the floorboard with Killian’s sitting on the center console, and she grabs them both before heading inside and settling down onto the couch in the living room.

 

She’s got notifications filling her screen behind the time telling her that it’s far past midnight. Where the hell did today go?

 

_Ruby: Sunday fun day._

_Ruby: Seriously. I’ve had a lot of mimosas. By myself because Marg is boring and pregnant and David is not drinking in solidarity._

_Ruby: It’s times like these when I miss you. And when I realize I need more friends._

_Ruby: OMG. We have to try the new bakery down the street from the office. I meant to tell you earlier, but I forgot._

_David: Can you return my call?_

 

“What call?” she mumbles to herself only to continue to scroll through the messages, thankful that she’s sitting down for what she reads next.

 

_David: Ems, Mary Margaret is in labor._

_David: We’re waiting at the hospital right now._

_Ruby: Holy shit, Marg is having Brody right now._

_Ruby: She’s freaking out because she’s early. I’m freaking out because I’ve had far too much to drink today._

_David: Everything is fine. I don’t know why you’re not near your phone, but don’t freak out when you get these messages, okay? MM and the baby are fine._

 

If her heart could beat out of her chest with her still alive, that’s exactly what would be happening right now. She can’t breathe. There’s something lodged in her throat that’s stopping her from breathing. Mary Margaret can’t be having her baby. That’s not supposed to happen for three more weeks. That’s why she let herself come out here for four days and why Killian was going to come to her the next few weekends. She is supposed to be at the hospital with Mary Margaret. They had a whole plan. She was supposed to be with them. She was going to watch Leo.

 

Oh shit. Who’s watching Leo? Ruby’s drunk. Ruby can’t watch Leo.

 

Quickly, she presses David’s contact name and listens to the rings, just waiting for him to answer. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. You have to pick up the phone.”

 

“Hello?”

 

“David, oh my God. What’s happening? Is Mary Margaret okay? Is the baby okay? Are you okay? Is someone watching Leo? Oh shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I missed your calls and your texts and oh my God.”

 

“Emma, breathe,” David calmly says into the phone, which only really makes her breathe more heavily. “Everything is fine. The doctors say Mary Margaret and Brody are both fine, that he’ll be okay when he’s born from what they can tell. She’s not too early or anything. She’s barely early at all. And Leo is at home with a sitter.”

 

“I was supposed to be his sitter. I was supposed to be with him.”

 

“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known she’d be early.”

  
  
“But I should be there.” She gets up from the couch, already walking upstairs planning on packing her bags to go home. “I’m going to go back my bag right now and change my flight. How long until she delivers do you think?”

 

“Emma, that’s ridiculous. You can’t get a flight out of there right now. It’s nearly three in the morning here.”

 

“I’ve got to go,” she tells him, hanging up the phone as her mind runs all over the place as she tries to calculate how long it’ll take to get there. There shouldn’t be any traffic, but she needs a flight. How much is it going to cost her to change to another flight?

 

In the back of her mind, she knows that she’s being crazy, that it doesn’t matter if she leaves right now or in the morning because there’s no way in hell that she’s going to make it in time for Brody to be born or to watch Leo when they’re already at the hospital. But she’s supposed to be _there_. This is her family, whether it’s blood or not, and she’s supposed to be there for the big things like this. She starts throwing all of her clothes back into her suitcase, not caring that they’ll get wrinkled, and is zipping up her bag when she hears Killian’s voice.

 

“Swan, what are you doing?”

 

She looks up at him as she zips her suitcase. She looks at the way that he’s got his arms crossed over his chest, his muscles bulging a bit with the position, and she looks at the way that his sweatpants hang low on his hips, giving her a glimpse of the trail of hair and the v-shaped muscles that she’s grown so fond of. No, that she loves. She loves him and the way that his eyes are always so beautiful, loves the way that his hair flops over his forehead no matter how he styles it, and she loves the way that he’s always got a smile on his face when he’s looking at her. She loves how he makes her laugh, how he listens to her ramble about the stupidest things, and how he listens, actually listens, to her when she’s telling him something she’s not truly comfortable sharing.

 

She loves him.

 

But right now she is absolutely furious at him.

 

No, right now she’s furious with herself.

 

She has no idea who she’s furious with.

 

“I’m going home,” she mumbles, standing from the ground and slipping sandals onto her feet.

 

“I’m sorry. You’re what now?”

 

“I’m going home. I have to go home.”

 

“Emma,” he cautions, coming over to her and placing his hands on her shoulder, squeezing enough that she stops and can see the confusion in his eyes, the uneasiness in his smile, “what are you talking about? Your flight is at noon tomorrow. It’s midnight. We have hours left.”

 

“I need to go. Mary Margaret is having her baby, and I’m supposed to be there.”

 

“She’ll understand if you’re not.”

 

“No,” she groans, backing away from his touch while her mind begins to spiral. She needs it to stop, but she can’t. She can’t make it stop no matter how hard she tries. She’s trying. She really is. “I need to go. I cannot miss this. That is my family, and I’ve missed so much lately. I’ve missed all of these major moments, not to mention all of the little ones, and I need to go home. I don’t need to fucking be here.”

 

She can feel Killian’s eyes on her, but she has to look away. She can’t look at him, can’t look at the blue or the way that his lips aren’t pressed into a smile. “Darling, there aren’t going to be any flights. It’s late.”

 

“I still have to go home.”

 

“Swan, your flight is tomorrow. You’ll be there tomorrow.”

 

“At, like, midnight. I’ll be home at midnight. I’m going to miss everything.”

  
  
“You’ll be there after he’s born, after they’ve had time with him.”

 

“You don’t get it,” she cries, wiping down the tears that are falling on her cheeks while she makes a feeble attempt to regulate her breathing. She stopped breathing, didn’t she? How did she stop breathing? “I’m missing it, Killian. My best friend having a baby, and nothing will change whether I’m there or not, but it’s not just _this_. It’s everything. If we keep doing this, how much of my life am I going to miss? How much are you going to miss because we’re always on a damn plane or all the way across the country?”

 

“Emma – ” he cautions, stepping closer to her only for her to back away, to take a step back for every step that he takes forward.

 

One step forward. Two steps back.

 

“No, I’m right. We haven’t talked about it, but I’m right.”

 

“So what do you want?” Killian sighs, an edge of anger seeping into his voice that she hears over the pounding in her head and the thump of her heart against her ribcage.

 

“I want to go home.”

 

“That’s not exactly an option right now. So why don’t we just go downstairs and watch TV? You’ll get on your plane in the morning, and you’ll be there as fast as you can.”

 

“I can’t do this,” she sighs, feeling her breath even out as her chest stops heaving and her face cools down. Her entire body cools down really, the frantic episode that she just went through stopping while she stares down Killian and stares down what her entire future is going to look like. “I can’t do this.”

  
  
“What can’t you do?”

 

“This,” she says calmly, pointing between the two of them. “I can’t live with this actual, physical distance between us. I can’t…oh God,” she sobs, covering her mouth with her hands while tears well in her eyes again, everything that she’s been holding down for _months_   coming to the surface. “I can’t do this.”

 

“Emma,” he pleads, and she has to ignore the brokenness in his voice. “Love, no, don’t go down that road. We’re fine. Please don’t do this.”


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I knew that you guys would have feelings about the last chapter, but I was not at all expecting that! I love it! I simply ask that you remember a time when you were tired and upset, when a bunch of little things you’d been bottling up inside led up to a big thing where it all kind of boiled over. It’s life and relationships, and we don’t always make the best decisions. It doesn’t mean we don’t love our partner, friends, parents, or whoever it is we're talking to.

His house is empty.

 

There’s no one in it but him right now. There are no sounds of conversation or laughter. There’s no music playing over the speakers or a show playing on the television. Really, the only sound he can hear is the air conditioner kicking on and the ocean waves crashing onto the shore in a continual rhythm that he can’t stop focusing on.

 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he stops focusing on the waves outside as he sits on the balcony of his bedroom, the balcony doors ajar behind him with their curtains blowing in the wind. It’s perfectly sunny outside, maybe a perfect day really. He can see his neighbors and their families out on the beach, can see boats out on the water, a rippling effect following behind each one of them, and every part of him wishes he could be out there experiencing today like he should be experiencing it.

 

Really, he knew that today wouldn’t be absolutely fantastic. Yesterday was really his holiday, and it was bloody wonderful…until it wasn’t.

 

God, he doesn’t even really know where it went wrong. He doesn’t. All he knows is that he was drying off the sheets from where he and Emma had gotten them damp after not fully drying off from their shower before they fell into bed together and had what he thought was one of their more outstanding performances…and then he came back into the bedroom only to see Emma’s eyes blown wide while she furiously threw her clothes in her suitcase and told him she had to go.

 

What the hell?

 

She didn’t have to go. She could stay. She was supposed to stay for more hours.

 

She was supposed to stay.

 

Emma is supposed to be here.

 

But Mary Margaret had apparently gone into labor, and something had gone off inside of Emma. He saw it in the way she couldn’t stand still, her fingers fidgeting, her eyes bulging before slanting while she searched for something, anything to keep her grounded. He knew what she was about to do, knew that she was about to freak out, and because he knows Emma, he knew that he was powerless to stop it no matter how much he wanted to. Her mind was already set on a path, she already knew what she wanted, and he could do nothing but watch it happen.

 

He’s not okay with watching the woman he loves falling apart and doubting them when there’s nothing to doubt. He knows that there’s not. He knows that they’re solid, that they work. He is so in love with her that he would do anything in the world for her. She need only ask.

 

She didn’t ask.

 

Instead, she yelled. And he yelled. They yelled at each other and at themselves. He’s still not entirely sure what started the true argument, where the trigger was, and he’s spent all morning trying to figure it all out.

 

He hasn’t gotten anywhere with it.

 

But she had told him that she couldn’t do this, and he wasn’t sure what she meant by that. She couldn’t do what? She couldn’t have this conversation? She couldn’t be in California when she needed to be in Boston? She couldn’t be with him?

 

He thought it was the first two, that all she really needed was to be able to go home, to be with her friends…to be with her _family_. But the more they talked, the more words that spurted out of her mouth, the more he realized that maybe she meant she couldn’t be with him.

 

His legs had nearly dropped out from underneath him at the weight he felt in them.

 

He thinks that it was only the adrenaline that kept him going. He felt like he was fighting for his life, fighting for something, fighting for love.

 

He was fighting for love, and even if he’s pissed at hell at Emma right now, he’ll never stop fighting for them. He can’t. She’s it. She’s the one for him. He didn’t even think there was such thing as the one, but it’s all he’s been able to think about. It’s all he’s been able to focus on. He’s never been with someone he’s so comfortable with, who he constantly wants to be around, and for awhile, he thought that all of his feelings were heightened with the newness of the relationship and with the distance, but no…that’s just how he feels about her. Even when she’s a fucking pain in the arse and they’re having some kind of disagreement over money or schedules or what in the world to watch on TV, he knows that she’s the person he wants to fight with for the rest of his life.

 

He didn’t want to have that fight last night.

 

* * *

 

_“This,” she says calmly even with her voice breaking as she points between the two of them. “I can’t live with this actual, physical distance between us. I can’t…oh God,” she sobs, covering her mouth with her hands while tears well in her eyes, everything that she’s obviously been holding down coming to the surface so that he can see the emotions too. “I can’t do this.”_

_“Emma,” he pleads, and he has to ignore the brokenness in his own voice, ignore the way he’s playing a game of catchup in this conversation. “Love, no, don’t go down that road. We’re fine. Please don’t do this.”_

_“I don’t want to do this. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that I don’t want to do this?”_

 

_“Then why are you?”_

_“Because we have to do this. Killian, I love you. I’m not saying I don’t love you, but I can’t…I can’t miss my entire life. I had a life before a you, a pretty damn good one, and I have one outside of you. And I miss it. I miss so much.”_

_“So do I, Swan,” he tells her while he tries to calm down his breathing. He knows where this is going, and he doesn’t like this. This has been inevitable, the whole thing, but he wanted to have this conversation calmly, rationally, and that’s not what’s happening. He shouldn’t have kept putting it off. He shouldn’t have waited for the fuse to blow. Isn’t there a saying like that? Something about cutting problems off at the source. They should have talked more seriously about it before. They have, but it’s always been that they’ll have a future, that they want one, but it’s never been any definite plans on how they’ll get there. “I miss so much of the life I had before you, of the life that I have outside of you, but I’m okay making sacrifices.”_

_“I am too, but where do the sacrifices stop?” she blubbers, no longer looking at him as she paces back and forth in front of his bed, her feet moving quickly enough to wear down his rug. She’s going to wear down his rug with the force of her worry, and he’s still trying to catch up with the whiplash of all of this. “We can’t do this forever, you know?”_

_“We can.”_

_He knows that it’s not true even before the words leave his lips._

_“No, we can’t. We can’t live on planes. We can’t live out of suitcases. What’s going to happen in the future? What? We just pass by each other’s lives? Oh hey, we’re married but we live in two different places all of the time? Oh yeah, you can have the kids over the summer. That doesn’t even make any sense. Are we going to do that?”_

_“No, obviously not.”_

 

_“Then what? What the hell is the solution?”_

_“I don’t know,” he admits, running his hand through his hair and tugging at the strands while wishing that he had some kind of magic solution to this distance thing, to this argument._

_To them._

_“Exactly. That’s exactly fucking it.”_

_“Swan, maybe tonight isn’t the night for us to have this conversation. Maybe we need to have it when we’re not tired, when we’re not emotional.”_

_“Excuse me?” she scoffs, stopping in her tracks and turning to him with a raised brow and her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Did you just call me emotional?”_

_“No. That’s not what I said.”_

  
  
“Then what exactly do you mean? That I can’t be upset about me missing my best friend giving birth? That I can’t be upset about not being there for Ruby when she was going through a shitty breakup because I was here doing what? Nothing. I was doing nothing.”

_“It’s nice to know that you think that our relationship is not anything,” he spits, crossing his arms over his chest while gooseflesh rises on his skin and his entire body heats, a flip switching in him that’s so obvious that he knows this argument is only about to go downhill. His ribcage is tightening on his heart, and he knows that he’s about to say things that he regrets in the light of day. That she is too. But he can’t stop. “Because I don’t fucking think that it’s nothing.”_

_“That’s not what I meant.”_

_“Isn’t it, though? You’re going on and on about how you’re missing everything because you’re with me, and I get that. I do, but I’m doing the same thing. I miss things too. But you know what, I’m okay missing some things so I can be with you. I actually think our relationship is important, but apparently, you don’t.”_

_“Of course I think our relationship is important! That’s not what I said.”_

_“It is. That’s what you’re saying. You might not have said the words, but it’s what you meant. And you know what, fuck that. Fuck that you think I’m not worth spending time with.”_

_“Killian,” she begs, walking closer to him, getting almost close enough to touch him, but she doesn’t. He wishes that she will. He wishes that she’ll place her hand on his arm and that they’ll both realize how dumb they’re being. She still doesn’t, the air between them thick enough to be a wall. She stops just before him and backs up, almost as if she’s been shocked simply by being near him. He’s a little shocked by everything that’s happening. “You know what?” she echoes his words, and he gulps, not prepared to hear the words that are about to pass her lips. “Fuck that. I don’t think that, and I feel like you should trust me enough to know that.”_

_He does. He does trust her. She trusts him. They love each other. They do._

_But that doesn’t matter right now._

  
  
“How am I supposed to know what you think when you’ve been going on and on about how you’d rather be somewhere else than with me and how you can’t do this?”

_“I don’t know.”_

_The room goes silent around them, only the gentle hum of the dryer from down the hall and the air conditioning filling the room, but it’s nothing compared to the tension that he feels right now. The tension that he knows that Emma’s feeling too. They both need to take a step back, to calm down and talk about this again, but then Emma’s walking toward him, picking her suitcase off on the ground, and rolling it down the hallway. He knows that she doesn’t leave the house, that she’s just going to the guest room she used to stay in, and all of it feels…wrong._

_He feels further away from her now than when he’s three thousand miles away._

* * *

But they had it, and Emma was gone from the house when he woke up at five. Really, he never even truly went to sleep. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not the worst fight he’s ever had. Hell, it’s not even the worst argument he’s had with Emma. It was all of the implications behind it. They’ve been dating long distance, living their lives for a few days at a time, and she’s right.

 

They can’t do this forever.

 

They can’t live their lives on opposite ends of the country, and it’s not as if one of them moving is a simple answer. Their lives are both so settled where they are. If he leaves Santa Monica, he’s leaving his family. If Emma leaves Boston, she’s leaving her family and the job she’s so proud of. He’s sure she could find something here, but he doesn’t know if he could ask her to give up everything to leave her home when he’s not even here all of the time. He leaves for projects and work and…he leaves.

 

He leaves, and the woman he loves has been left far too many times.

 

He has too, more than he’d like, but his coping mechanism has always been different than Emma’s. He clings to those he loves, doing the opposite of what everyone has done to him, and he thinks that may be what’s killing him right now. Emma had to leave today. That would have happened whether or not they’d argued, but she left without so much as a goodbye. She was gone. He knows that he hurt her, but she also hurt him.

 

And he doesn’t know how to fix it.

 

In a snap of his fingers, he’d tell Emma he’d be willing to move to Boston, to find an apartment or a home in the city, but he’s honestly not sure how she’ll take it. Emma loves him. He doesn’t doubt this, not in the light of day. It’s just…are they ready for a commitment like that? They haven’t even been together that long in the grand scheme of things, not that it matters all too much. He’s not living his life on a timeframe that’s acceptable to others. He’s living a life that’s right for him and for Emma.

 

This has been the best seven months of his life. Really, it’s been the best ten months, and he refuses to let it all fall apart.

 

It’s not going to fall apart.

 

Maybe they should be having this conversation.

 

No, they _need_  to have this conversation, and he needs to stop running it over and over in his thoughts while he sits alone in his house. It’s up to Emma as much as it’s up to him, and he can’t be making these decisions by himself. He needs – he needs Emma. He’s not entirely sure that she’s going to want to talk to him right now.

 

_Ruby Lucas: This little munchkin is what happens when you don’t practice safe sex. Just thought I’d let you know after your weekend with Emma._

 

He looks at the picture above the message. The babe must be Brody, his skin still red as he’s wrapped up. He’s cute in the way that all newborns are, and as he’s typing back a message, something about how Ruby has phrased her message hits him. Has she not talked to Emma? Did Emma not tell anyone that she was coming home? Immediately he presses Ruby’s name and calls her, the need to know outweighing any boundaries he may be overstepping.

 

“Um, hello?”

 

“Have you spoken to Emma today?”

 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Ruby sighs, and he can hear commotion behind her. Is she at the hospital? Is she at work? She wouldn’t be at work. She has the day off. She must be at the hospital. “Jones, what’s got you all in a fit?”

 

“Have you spoken to Emma today?” he repeats, getting up from his spot on the balcony and wandering inside, shutting the doors behind him so he can’t hear the ocean, so that he can focus on this.

 

“She texted me this morning, something about catching an earlier flight, but I haven’t heard from her since.”

 

“When was that?”

 

“At around eight this morning. Why? Killian, is everything okay?”

 

Emma didn’t tell her friends anything. Of course she didn’t tell her friends anything. Why would she have? Then they’d all worry about her, especially Mary Margaret who definitely has other things to be worrying about right now. He’s honestly just glad that she let someone know where she is, even if it isn’t him.

 

“Everything is fine,” he promises, running his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands a bit. They’re wild and matted from last night, and he knows he should take another shower at some point. “I just…can you not tell Emma I called you? I know that’s a shitty thing to ask, but I – we got into a bit of an argument, and I just wanted to know that she’s okay.”

 

“What happened?” He can practically feel Ruby’s sigh on the other end of the line, and even though he’s spent a hell of a lot of time with Ruby, feels entirely comfortable with her, he’s not sure if he should really be discussing any of this with her if Emma hasn’t done it herself. “It’s just an argument, right? Not a break up?”

 

“God no. Or at least I hope so. I don’t know. I guess the distance stress has been building, and Mary Margaret going into labor while Emma was here snapped things. How is she, by the way?”

 

“She’s great. She’s sleeping right now, but she’s great. As is Brody. Killian?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You and Ems are going to be fine.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

He talks to Ruby for a few more minutes before ending the call and looking up all of the flight times to try to figure out what flight Emma might have gotten on this morning. Honestly, he’s surprised she even managed to get a different flight. Sometimes airlines can be such arseholes about it. He’s got no idea which flight is hers, but he assumes it was the one at six this morning, and she should be landing within the next two hours. Realistically, he knows that she’s fine. It’s a flight like it’s always been. Nothing is going to happen, and she’s going to very safely land and get to go meet Brody and check on Mary Margaret and David.

 

But he can’t help but worry. He can’t help but worry that something will have happened, and the last words they said to each other weren’t the kindest. It’s what makes time pass impossibly slow when he knows it’s passing at its normal rate. It’s what makes him dive into cleaning his house, doing things that are totally unnecessary like moving furniture in a way that’s going to kill his back, while blaring music over all of the speakers just to try to make time pass more quickly.

 

It doesn’t.

 

He’s constantly checking his watch, the one Emma gave him, before looking at his phone, her face popping up on the screen from where she’d jokingly put an unflattering picture of herself that she found online as the screensaver. Her mouth is open in the middle of a yawn, one eye open and the other closed, and she’s got the buttons of her dress all askew. It’s ridiculous, but he loves it. It’s also what makes him text Emma to ask her to make sure that she lets him know that she’s at least safe. He doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to ask for more, but he at least deserves to know that she’s safe. Just because they’ve gotten into a fight does not in any way mean that he shouldn’t or doesn’t care about her and her well-being.

 

If anything, the desperation of wanting to speak to her may make him care more.

 

No, he cares as he always has. Everything seems off kilter since they haven’t spoken. They don’t give each other play by plays of their days. He doesn’t have to know that she’s going to the gym after work and she doesn’t have to know that he went out to lunch with his mates, but knowing that each other is safely back home…that’s not negotiable.

 

He swears every timepiece inside of his home has stopped. Everything is standing in complete stillness except for the loud thrumming of his heart inside of his chest and the way he can feel it in every inch of his body.

 

When time continues to pass with no word from Emma, he makes the decision to go outside for a run. If time is going to pass slowly, he might as well exercise. It always seems to slow time down as well, but when he really gets into it, the music blaring through the buds in his ears, sometimes time and life can fade away as sweat beads at his forehead and on his arms all the while his legs and his chest burn to points of uncomfortableness. It’s torture and comfort at the same time, and as he laces up his sneakers, he craves it.

 

He craves the burn and the agony as much as he craves the release of endorphins and the release of the weight that’s been bearing down on his shoulders. It’s been a hell of a long time since he’s had to process feelings like this, the confusion and uncertainty something he’s become unaccustomed to since he met Emma back in December. Of course, at first, when he wasn’t sure what they were doing, there was a lot there, but it was all giddy anticipation and what ifs, all of the blossoming of a new relationship. But the confusion of want and lust and anticipation cannot compare to the confusion that often accompanies love. Being in love is the greatest thrill and risk in life, at least to him, and even though he knows and has experienced the highs and lows of it before, it doesn’t mean that things become easier. Emotions aren’t always heightened. Eventually things don’t feel as intense, the beginnings tiding over, but that doesn’t make the love any less real. If anything, he thinks it makes it even more so.

 

But who is he to say?

 

He’s currently letting his feet sink into sand and letting his entire body burn with pain all because he’s got no clue what he’s doing and is having some kind of existential crises because he and Emma are uncertain in their future.

 

It’s that thought that makes him stop his run, his breath catching before he starts heaving in and out, his chest moving with each heavy breath as he starts to notice the sweat that he didn’t feel before. His body is covered in sea spray, sand, and sweat, but he didn’t even notice. It’s not the argument that’s worrying him. It’s not the fact that Emma left without telling him or the fact he doesn’t know that she’s okay. Of course, those things bother him and worry him, but he’s concerned about the uncertainty of he and Emma’s future.

 

Do they even have one?

 

Can they even make this work?

 

They have to make this work. He wants to make this work. He needs to make this work, and he will fight for it. But Emma has to fight for it too. Maybe he’s overreacting and maybe things will seem calmer once he’s gotten some sleep and actually spoken to Emma, but processing things on his own now will help him know what he wants when they do eventually talk.

 

They’re going to talk.

 

His phone rings from where it’s been in his pocket, and he scrambles for it so quickly that he nearly drops it into the sand and into the water that washing up around the bottom of his shoes. He answers without looking, and he shouldn’t be surprised that it’s not Emma, but he is.

 

“Hey,” Elsa greets, her voice as light as cheery as it usually is.

 

“Hello, darling,” he heavily pants out, still attempting to catch his breath as he straightens out his back and stretches his limbs, letting the disappoint settle deep in his bones before he tries to rid himself of it. He loves Elsa. She’s simply not who he wants to talk to right now.

 

“Why do you sound out of breath?”

 

“I am.”

  
  
“You shouldn’t be. I mean, Emma’s flight was an hour ago and there’s no way she stayed just to shag you one more time.” He laughs, but even he can tell that it’s forced. With how well Elsa knows him, he’s sure that she can tell as well. “Killian, what’s wrong?”

 

“Do you want the long version or the short version?”

 

“Let’s go with medium. I have some time, but I know that you can get wordy. Your brother is the same way.”

 

This time he genuinely laughs at Elsa’s attempt to humor him, and his breath starts to come back to him as he decides to leisurely walk back to his home, knowing he can’t stay standing by the ocean forever. “You’re telling me. I’ve had to listen to that man talk for my entire life.”

  
  
“I’m sorry for all the trouble you’ve been through.”

  
  
“Hush. You chose him. I was born stuck with him.”

 

“Good point. Now don’t change the subject. Tell me what’s got you in a mood.”

 

“Ah, well,” he sighs, reaching up and scratching behind his ear and clicking his tongue, “it would seem that Emma and I got into a bit of a fight last night, and now she’s God knows where. I don’t know when she left, really, just what Ruby’s told me, so I’m hoping to hear that she’s safe and at home soon.”

 

“Oh, Killian,” Elsa sighs at the same time the two children run directly in front of him so that he has to change his route, “I’m sorry. What happened? Do you want to talk about it? Do you even want to talk to me? Should I get your brother? Hell, Anna’s downstairs. I could get her.”

 

“No, lass, you’re fine. I don’t…I feel like I already talked too much to Ruby when I was checking to see if she knew anything about Emma. It was just an argument, but, you know, it brought up a lot of problems. Mostly the long distance, how much we’re missing of our own lives and each other’s lives, and obviously it all spiraled, the late night not helping at all. Mary Margaret went into labor yesterday, and Emma couldn’t be there because she was here.”

 

“And you’re blaming yourself?”

 

“Yes, no, I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

 

“It always is. Look, I don’t pretend to know how Emma ticks. We’re friends I like to think, but I don’t know her nearly as intimately as you.”

  
  
“I would hope not.”

  
  
“Shush. What I’m trying to say is that even I know that even with all of her walls and _your_   walls, you two love each other. You love each other, and no, that doesn’t mean things are always going to work out, but it does mean that you have a reason to try to work things out. Emma’s not going to leave you because of one fight. I mean, you guys have argued before, right?”

 

“Obviously.”

  
  
“So you know how to resolve things.”

  
  
“How the hell do I…do we resolve the distance thing, Els? How do we fix this? One of us is going to have to uproot everything, and that just doesn’t seem fair.”

  
  
“Life never is.”

  
  
“Gee, thanks.”

 

“You know what I mean. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that if you guys want to live together at some point and make good on all of those future plans that you’re making in your head, but if you both want this, you’ve got to compromise. Marriage, and don’t interrupt me to say you’re not married, is about a hell of a lot of compromise and sacrifice. Liam and I make them every day. You and Emma are just going to have to make some bigger ones when the time is right for you, which may be now or even months from now. So take a deep breath, go take a nice long bath with a cup of tea, and talk to your damn girlfriend instead of spiraling into that dark hole of yours.”

  
  
“You know me far too well.”

  
  
“Well, part of my compromises with Liam have been that I’m required to deal with you too.”

  
  
He barks out a laugh as his house comes into view, the sea grass growing up near his staircase, and he makes his way toward it so he can do just what Elsa has suggested, do what he even thought earlier. Sometimes it’s nice to know that what he’s thinking makes sense, that maybe he’s not crazy even as he spirals into his black hole of thoughts.

 

“You are just too good to me.”

  
  
“Trust me, I know,” Elsa laughs as his feet leave the sand and touch wood. “I love you, and I usually don’t like making promises like this, but I will right now: you’re going to be okay.”

  
  
“Thanks. I love you too, Els. I’m going to go wash all of this sand and sweat off of me.”

  
  
“And don’t forget to eat.”

  
  
“You’re such a parent.”

 

“I literally am. Do you want to talk to your brother? I know you said you were fine with me, but – ”

 

“- but he’s Liam,” he finishes for Elsa. “No, it’s just…I think I’ll talk to him about everything when things have calmed down. He and Emma didn’t get off to a great start, and I don’t want him thinking less of her. He shouldn’t, but you know how he gets.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I’m going to get eat with Anna, okay? Call me if you need me, and if you want to, you can come over to stuff your face with junk food.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

He toes his sneakers off, having to kick at his heel when a shoe gets stuck, before he’s taking off his socks and washing his legs off with the showerhead that he’s got on his back porch. He loves this place so damn much, but right now, looking out at the ocean and feeling the air that only comes from living near the ocean covering his skin, he can’t help but resent it a small bit. But he’s not going to make any rash decisions or fall into the dark hole that he’s been running around the rim of all day. He’s going to take a shower and settle down in front of the television with a nice, soothing cup of tea.

 

No alcohol, though. He wants it, has wanted to drink a glass of rum all day, but he knows that it’s the last thing he needs.

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he’s walking inside the house, then it buzzes again, and when he pulls it out, Emma’s name flashes across the screen, and without even seeing the messages, the weight that’s been in his stomach lightens the slightest bit.

 

_Emma: I’m home._

_Emma: And I’m sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chat on Tumblr over at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com)


	21. Chapter Twenty One

“Good God, it’s hot in here,” Emma murmurs to herself as she walks into her office, sweat already beading at her forehead. After the disaster with the air conditioner breaking earlier this summer, she cannot deal with this again. “Did they turn the damn air conditioning off over the weekend?”

 

She’s got to stop talking to herself.

 

She keeps walking down the hall, flicking lights on as she goes. She couldn’t sleep last night, spending it all staring at her phone and the message Killian had sent her after she’d told him she got home.

 

_Killian:_ _I’m sorry too._

 

It was only three words, three words that she’s seen before, but for some reason she couldn’t text him back. She didn’t know what to say. It’s kind of hard to figure out how to voice “hey, I’m still really freaking out about everything, but I love you and don’t like arguing with you.”

 

Okay, so she could have voiced it exactly like that, but every time she went to text those words or three other more familiar words or to press his contact name, she couldn’t do it. She doesn’t know why, but she couldn’t do it. And even as she tried to stay present in meeting Brody (who is absolutely freaking adorable) and checking on Mary Margaret, her mind kept playing over everything that had happened. She’d freaked out. There really aren’t any words for it other than that. She freaked out over all of the little things that have been building up into this one big fear of she and Killian not working out because their lives are so different and three thousand miles apart.

 

A little voice in her head reminds her that it’s two thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, technically, and she knows that little voice is Killian’s. He looked it up. Maybe he looked it up to see how many frequent flyer points he’s been earning lately, or maybe he just full on Jess Mariano’d it. That’s totally not a verb, but it is kind of all she can think about. That and the fact that this good thing she’s got going for her that could end.

 

She doesn’t want it to end.

 

Talking to Killian would probably help things not to end…but it also could make things end more quickly. She thinks that may be what kept her, what _keeps_  her from talking to him. It’s not that she’s mad at him or upset with him or any of that despite the harsh words that he said to her too. It’s more than she’s worried that the third party in their relationship, the damn distance, is finally going to be the breaking point. She’s terrified of it being the breaking point, and she has no idea how to handle it. If anything, she’s doing everything she can to avoid handling it.

 

She ran. She knows that she ran, that she fell back into this old pattern of hers, but she also knows that she had to leave California anyways. She was coming home yesterday regardless of if Brody was born or she and Killian got into an argument. She was always going to come home. Maybe she wouldn’t have spent her night in his guest room and left without saying goodbye, but sometimes she makes dumb choices. She’s human, and she’s not going to always do the rational thing.

 

Looking back, she can’t believe how much things would have been different if she had taken a moment to breathe.

 

If they had both taken a moment to breathe in the heat of the argument.

 

She’s always been a fan of avoiding her problems, avoiding the fact that her parents left her with nothing, avoiding the fact that the first person she ever trusted with her heart betrayed her in a way that she still cannot wrap her head around, and avoiding every little heartbreak in between. Usually she shuts everything out, shuts everyone out, and hides away from it all, never thinking of it again until something triggers the memory. Now, though, all she can think about is Killian and how she should have talked to him, should have never left him to worry like she knows that he did. It’s not the first time that they’ve argued. It hopefully won’t be the last, but she knows that this time she can’t walk around blaming Killian for everything.

 

Really, she can’t blame herself for it either. She can’t deny that she’s screwed up, that she has things to own up to, but she also knows that she’s not fighting with Killian because of something either of them did wrong besides a few harsh words they shouldn’t have said. It’s simply the circumstances their lives have put them in.

 

Normally she needs Mary Margaret or David or, hell, even Ruby to drill things like this into her head, but she had a long time to think in Killian’s guest room and on the plane ride home. She may have her own set of issues, but she apparently is starting to figure them out.

 

Even if she really wants to avoid people right now.

 

That’s likely why she’s walking into her office before seven in the morning on her first day back at work after her vacation. She doesn’t think anyone in the offices even comes in this early, which is probably why it’s so damn hot in here. That or September is just off to this awful start. She wants fall. Maybe everything will be better in the fall.

 

Maybe she’ll have talked to Killian by then.

 

No, definitely. She definitely has to talk to him. She’ll call or text tonight. Yeah, that’s exactly what she’ll do. She’s not going to chicken out. She’s not. She has to call. She knows Killian, and he is definitely waiting on her. He’s always waiting on her and following her lead, and as sweet as that is, if Killian wants something, he should be able to say it without worrying about if it’s going to freak her out or not. So she has to talk to him.

 

She’s terrified, but she has to talk to him. They’re not going to break up. They’re not. They’re going to apologize and fix things and make it all better. She thinks that as if a band-aid can heal a bullet hole, but if it’s big enough, maybe it’ll stop the bleeding for a little while.

 

There’s a reason she’s not a doctor. Okay, there are a lot of reasons.

 

The fact that she keeps repeating things over and over and over again in her head to keep herself from crying in the middle of her workplace is likely another reason. She’s cried a lot in the past forty-eight hours. She sobbed the night of their argument when she was pacing in Killian’s guest room, the room she stayed in when they weren’t dating, and she’d sobbed on the plane even with all of her thinking through things. Maybe because of her thinking through things. The woman next to her likely thought she was crazy. She’s honestly surprised that the woman didn’t ask for a different seat so she can be away from the crazy woman.

 

Emma surely would have.

 

Her tears finally stopped when she got to the hospital, only to start again when she saw all of the Nolans in Mary Margaret’s hospital room. It was like a freaking post card or Hallmark card or an entire Hallmark movie. But not one with Lori Loughlin or anything. She’s probably not going to be playing a devoted mother any time soon, which Emma thinks is pretty ironic because she seems pretty _devoted_   to her kids. But they were all so happy, and Leo was fascinated with his little brother, if not a bit jealous when he realized Brody was coming home with them. So obviously she cried. She’s not sure if it was all happy tears or if she was just feeling so damn much right then and there that every little emotion she had ever felt was flowing over until her eyes were more red than green.

 

She was like a Christmas tree.

 

And maybe her mind is a little all over the place because she hasn’t exactly slept in two days. She’s had a lot to think about.

 

“You’re here early.”

 

“Holy shit,” she gasps, literally stumbling backward and grabbing her chest like she’s clutching pearls or something ridiculous like that as her heartbeat speeds up and Kathryn comes into view with files cradled in her arm. “Kathryn, you startled me.”

  
  
“Well, maybe if you were in the office a little more, you wouldn’t get so startled about people being here to, you know, do their jobs.”

 

Kathryn pushes past her, their shoulders hitting, and she turns around as Kathryn walks away. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

 

Kathryn stops in her tracks, turning around and giving Emma a stare that could melt ice while in a freezer. “I mean,” she snaps, taking several steps forward until she’s in Emma’s face, their noses close enough to touch, “that maybe if you spent time at work instead of traipsing around with your boyfriend all the time, maybe you wouldn’t be surprised that I’m here.”

 

“I’m entitled to a personal life.”

 

“Your personal life is on the front page of gossip magazines and in a million articles online. Your personal life is everywhere, and ever since the damn Christmas gala, I’ve had to spend my time answering phone calls on a daily basis asking if I can get them in contact with Killian Jones. Time is taken out of my day to deal with you all the while you suntan on a boat in California.”

 

“Kathryn,” she begins calmly even as her entire body begins to heat, her stomach swirling in a way that’s totally different than it has been in the past few days, “if you have a problem with my personal life, I suggest you keep it to yourself. I can guarantee you that it doesn’t affect your life nearly as much as it affects mine, and if you’ve got such a problem with it, why don’t you complain to HR? I’m sure they can help you get the stick out of your ass by telling you that I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong here.”

 

“You’re kind of entitled for someone who literally came from nothing if all of the articles are correct.”

 

“Well, I may have come from nothing, but look at that,” she says, moving her arms out to the sides to encompass the room, “we’ve ended up in the same damn place. Have a good day, Kathryn.”

 

She’s absolutely done with that conversation. Kathryn has always been awful and petty, but that’s taking things to new levels. Emma was much kinder than she wanted to be, but she is at work and calling someone an asshole and then slapping her would do nothing but get Emma fired. Her life is a mess right now, and the absolute last thing she needs is to get fired. She’s got savings but…she’d have nothing. Her apartment is crappy, but it still costs a hell of a lot to live without a roommate in the city.

 

Her job is kind of a necessity for her to live.

 

She also really loves her job.

 

That saying when it rains it pours seems to hold true throughout the day. She did take two days off, but there really shouldn’t be that much for her to do, especially since she answered some of her emails last night. Everything is pretty much nonstop, and if it wasn’t for Ruby bringing her a salad, she wouldn’t have eaten all day. She’s not even sure that she ate yesterday, and all she’s had today is some lettuce with a couple of pieces of cold chicken in it. And barely even that. From the way Ruby looked at her and talked to her, Emma knows that Ruby is aware that she and Killian are in a fight. Emma didn’t say anything, but Ruby knows. Either Ruby knows her that well or she’s talked to Killian. She’d bet on both, but if she had to pick one, it’d be Killian calling Ruby to make sure the Emma was okay.

 

He probably didn’t call Mary Margaret because he didn’t want her to worry.

 

But her day is pretty much the day from hell, the past few days have been really, and when she gets home, she collapses on the couch, unbuttons her pants, and wonders if maybe she could prove Kathryn right and just not go to work and yet still have a job.

 

“Shit,” she groans, rolling over on the couch and reaching for her purse on the ground, fumbling for her phone. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

 

She was going to call Killian. She _is_  going to call Killian, but she’s not exactly in the best of moods. Being in a better mood would probably help this conversation a hell of a lot, but she doesn’t think she can go another day without at least talking to him. They don’t have to fix all of their problems today. That would be impossible. All she really wants is to hear his voice for a little while and to know that they’re not broken.  

 

They really screwed up a little bit, didn’t they?

 

She really screwed up.

 

Taking a deep breath and then three more, closing her eyes and attempting to calm the way butterflies are fluttering in her stomach, she presses down on his contact name and waits as the rings begin. And then as they end and his voice message pops up.

 

Well, that’s not the way she wanted to hear his voice.

 

Disappointment washes over her entire body, and she feels tears prickling in the back of her eyes, which is ridiculous. She’s not often ashamed of tearing up, but tearing up over her boyfriend not answering her call when that happens all the time for them, well, she feels a little ridiculous over that. She needs some ice cream or something. Or donuts. She could probably eat an entire box of donuts.

 

But then her phone starts buzzing on her stomach, a picture of she and Killian from his premiere just a few days ago popping up, and she’s so frantic to answer it that she nearly misses his call from how her fingers are shaking.

 

“Hello?” Killian audibly sighs, and she does the same, relief washing over her before he speaks again. “Hi, Swan.”

 

“Hi,” she squeaks, choosing to ignore the fact that she actually just squeaked. “Hi, hi, hi. I’m so glad you answered or called or I don’t even know. I was waiting and missing and didn’t really know and – I’m just going to shut up right now.”

 

Killian chuckles on the other end of the line, and it lessens the tension she feels in her shoulders, the knots softening even further. “I’m glad you called and glad that I called back. I don’t…God, I’m sorry, Swan.”

 

“I’m sorry too. You don’t absolutely hate me for just boarding a plane like that?”

  
  
“I don’t hate you, no. I’d rather you not do shit like that, but I don’t control what you do. That’d be barbaric. I just like when we talk, when you don’t disappear in the middle of the night.”

  
  
“I know. That was a shit move. I knew it then, and I know it now. I guess I was just upset. We’ve got – we’ve got some stuff to figure out.”

  
  
“Aye,” he sighs, and she can practically see him running his hand over the hair on his chin in contemplation, “but if you’d let me, I’d like to have that conversation in person.”

  
  
“Killian, you don’t have to do that.”

  
  
“I think I do, darling. You’re right when we say we have some stuff to figure out, and while I don’t doubt our abilities to get _things_   done over the phone, especially with the wicked tongue that you have, I do think I’d rather be able to see you while we’re talking these things through. I have a feeling it’s not a one-time thing kind of conversation. It’s going to be more than an hour.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And you…you want to have this conversation?”

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” she insists, messing with the tips of her hair simply so she has something else to focus on. “I know I said I couldn’t do this, and Killian, I’m terrified that we’re going to talk about everything and realize that we can’t work this out, but I think I was – I know that I was spiraling that night. A lot of the things I said were legitimate, but a lot of them were the fear speaking over the logic. I do that a lot”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

It’s really not. They both know that it’s not. He should tell her that it’s not, that she hurt him.

 

“It’s not. I love you, you know? And I know we fight, but this one felt _different_.”

 

“Aye, I know,” he admits, and she sits up on the couch, pulling herself into a ball and wrapping her arms around her knees to comfort herself. “It was different. And I love you too. I don’t…could I fly in tomorrow or do you want more time?”

 

“I’d be okay with tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” she smiles, feeling better than she has in several days, hope settling somewhere deep inside of her.  

 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

 

“Sound like a plan, Stan.”

 

Time ticks by the following day at what has to be slower than a snail’s pace. She goes into work early again, simply because she couldn’t sleep, but it’s only after she’s dropped some food off at David and Mary Margaret’s house. She knows that she’s not much of a cook, but she figures that there’s only so many ways she can mess up bringing over several frozen casserole dishes. Seriously, unless she drops them or buys them expired, she can’t mess that up. A part of her still feels guilty over missing Brody’s birth, over not being there for Mary Margaret and David when they needed her, and maybe a little of her trying to help is to assuage herself of some of that guilt. It’s not really working, but Mary Margaret’s tired smile helps a little bit.

 

Sometimes Mary Margaret drives her insane with her positivity and her refusal to see the bad in things, but she’s her family. Emma loves she and David – and Leo and Brody too – so damn much that she would do anything in the world for them.

 

Same for Ruby.

 

And for Killian.

 

She’s never had a biological family. Sure, they’re probably out there somewhere, but that doesn’t mean a thing to her anymore. She didn’t get to grow up with the family she always wanted, but she’s glad to have learned that found family is just as good. If not better.

 

It’s probably why this day is ticking by so slowly. She’s been up for an exhausting amount of time, and she’s anxious to be able to see Killian, to be able to talk to him, and to be able to try to work this out. How the hell they’re going to solve a long-distance relationship, she has no clue.

 

If Boston and Santa Monica could, like, merge somehow, that would be great. That’d be a funky climate, but that would be great.

 

“Have you eaten today?” Ruby asks her, startling her out of her thoughts so that she looks up toward her office door. “Because you barely eat yesterday, and Ems, you can’t starve yourself just because you and hot stuff are in a fight.”

 

“I ate breakfast with the Nolans.” She rolls back in her desk chair and stretches her arms up over her head, the ache pleasurable. She needs to stretch more. “Are you ever down in your office, Rubes? Don’t you have kids to counsel?”

 

“I am in between sessions, and I figured I had an Emma to counsel.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes even as her lips tug up on the sides. “I am fine, and, again, I ate this morning. But I really appreciate that you’re the type of friend to consistently feed me.”

 

“Food is the way to your heart,” she sighs, walking into the room and closing the door behind her. “But seriously, you okay? You’ve been all out of sorts ever since you came home on Monday.”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just – we just – Killian and I did get into a fight, but he’s on a plane right now so we can talk in person. The long distance is kind of killing us lately, even with how good this summer has been to us, and I know that things are really only going to get worse with time or when Killian starts working again. He’s picking up a new movie, and I’m so proud of him. I just know that’s going to be months of missing him on top of us already being separated. It’d be different if we lived in the same place.”

 

Ruby raises her brows, her forehead wrinkling with the movement, before she’s neutralizing her features and looking at Emma with the softest of smiles. She’s channeling Mary Margaret. She has to be. “Have you told lover boy any of this?”

 

Okay, so Ruby mixed with Mary Margaret. Like a two for one deal.

 

“Kind of,” she shrugs, lifting her legs up to tuck them into the chair as much as she can. “I mean, I don’t really know how. We talk about it all, but it’s hard. He gave up a movie for me, you know? And I can’t ask him to do that again. It’s one of the reasons I told him to take this new one. He loves it, and he should get to do what he loves.”

 

“Well, if I can give you some sage advice from someone who has done long distance, it’s that you have to talk. My relationship failed, but as I’ve just learned recently, it failed when we lived in the same damn city too. Vic and I probably aren’t the best match when it comes down to who we are now, and while I don’t get to know the intimacies of your relationship no matter how much I try to get you to tell me about how wonderful the sex is, I have a good feeling about you and Killian, kid. But you gotta talk to him about some terrifying future shit if you’re going to make it work.”

 

“I know.” She untucks her legs from her chair so she can stand and walk to the other side of the room, wrapping her arms around Ruby in an embrace. “I really hate when you get all wise about things.”

 

“Well, baby mama wasn’t about to tell you the truth if you’d talked to her it all this morning, so someone has to. I also really wanted you to come get lunch with me.”

 

She laughs into Ruby’s shoulder before pulling back. “Yeah, let’s go get lunch then.”

 

* * *

 

Killian’s sitting outside of her apartment door when she gets home a little later than usual, the sun already beginning to fade away as it shines through the window at the end of the hall. He hasn’t seen her yet, his head still tilted down, hair falling over his forehead as he messes with his phone. He has a key. She knows that he has a key because she gave it to him, and yet he’s sitting on a disgusting hallway floor that probably hasn’t been cleaned in months. If ever. And with all of the things she knows about Killian Jones, one of the most prominent is how he doesn’t like germs or for anything to be unclean.

 

“You know,” she sighs, pushing the nerves down as she walks toward him, her flats tripping her up for a moment, “there’s this amazing invention called a key. If you have the right one, it lets you into certain rooms.”

 

His head snaps up to her, his fingers stopping their movements on his phone, and she can’t help her laugh at the way his lips part, surprise very obviously crossing his face as he stares up at her, and she knows if his hands weren’t grasping his phone, he’d be scratching his ear or his chin. It’s just how he is. “Swan.”

 

“What are you doing sitting on the floor, KJ?”

 

“Ah, didn’t feel right to let myself in.” He stands from the ground as she unlocks the door, swinging it open eve as her hands shake a bit. She’s not sure if it’s out of nervousness or excitement. “And I’ve only been here for a little while.”

 

“How long is a little while? Why didn’t you text me that you were here? Didn’t we just talk about this?”

 

“Well, two hours or so, I’d say. I didn’t want to worry you or bother you at work. If you’ve been anywhere close to how I’ve been today, you likely didn’t need extra worry. I’m, well, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but for the first time since before we started dating, I’m nervous to talk to you.”

 

“Killian,” she murmurs, turning around and wrapping her arms around his waist, feeling his warmth even as he takes a moment to return the embrace. But he does, his arms moving around her and his hug so tight that she swears he picks her up off the ground if only for a moment.

 

“I know,” he mutters into her hair, the vibrations hitting against her skin at the same time she feels his scruff scratch her neck. “I’m sorry. I can’t – I’m sorry.”

 

“Me too, but we already said all of that.” She pulls back from their embrace so she can look him in the eyes, the blue lighter than the last time she saw him, the darkness no longer swirling. As nervous as she’s been, as anxious as she’s been, she doesn’t think anything really compares to how she’s feeling right now. She should have known that there wouldn’t be yelling. At least yet. She should have known that talking over the phone and making a plan to talk would not have been nearly as fiery as their argument in California. Tempers aren’t hot, so of course they’re like this. It’s Killian. It’s not the others. It’s Killian. “I don’t – I don’t even know how to start.”

 

“Why don’t we get something to drink and move out of your doorway, and we can talk, okay?”

 

She fixes them two cups of coffee, the caffeine likely not going to help the nerves that are starting to build again, before they sit down on her couch, her legs curled up underneath her so she’s as small as she can possibly be. It’s silent for long enough for the silence to be awkward, and since that makes her entirely uncomfortable, she breaks it.

 

“I don’t know how long I can do this long distance thing.” As her shoulders heave, the words finally off of her chest in the calmness of the day, she watches as Killian smiles across from her, his lips turning into one of the brightest smiles she’s ever seen from him. “Why the hell are you laughing?”

 

“Bloody hell. You just blurted that out like if you didn’t say it within five seconds an explosive would go off.”

 

“Well that’s how I felt.”

 

“I know, I know,” he chuckles, waving her away. “I’ve felt the same way. You just amuse me, darling.”

 

“That’s because I’m so damn funny.”

 

“I’m aware, but you’re also right. The distance fucking sucks, and I guess I’ve been ignoring how much of a strain that it’s putting on me, which is making me ignore how much of a strain it’s putting on you. I don’t – I mean, I noticed, but I brushed it aside.”

 

“So did I. And we can’t really do that because then I have meltdowns over missing Mary Margaret giving birth when it really shouldn’t have been that big of a deal.”

 

“Hey, no, don’t do that. Don’t diminish your feelings, Swan. If I had missed Aiden’s birth, I’d have been beside myself. I realize that I didn’t react in the best way, but I’ve had time to think about it. We’ve both been missing so much of our families’ lives and our friends’ lives since we started dating. You’ve had to miss some bigger, more important moments, and, darling, I am so sorry for that. It’s not fair or easy, but I love you more than anything in the world. I will get my damn pilot’s license if it means that I get to be with you more often.”

 

“Captain Killian Jones has a pretty good ring to it.”

 

“Aye, it does, doesn’t it? Seriously, though. I love you, Emma, and I’ve got no idea what kind of timeline we’re supposed to be on, but I don’t think any of that matters. I want to be with you for a long time, and if we’re going to do this, I think one of us has to think about moving.”

 

And there it is.

 

There’s the crux of the problem. There’s the entire problem.

 

“I know,” she whispers, taking a sip of her coffee to give herself more time to think as she watches Killian’s face and the way his eyebrows struggle to stay still. He wants to furrow them, but he’s trying to stay still. “I love you, and I know that if we want to make it work, that we have to think about that. I just…there’s no good option, KJ. If I move to California, I leave my friends and have to find a new job. If you move here, you leave your family and friends and half of your work stuff. Plus, you’re already gone when you’re working all of the time, and Boston would probably be more of an inconvenience than anything. California is better for you.”

 

“And Boston is better for you.”

 

“So what do we do?”

 

Killian shrugs, and her nerves race to new heights, the realization she’s always known just reconfirming itself to her. What do they do? How do they solve this? There’s nothing that’s better for both of them, and she can’t ask Killian to leave his family. She can’t.

 

“I can’t ask you to leave your family.”

 

“I’d do it though, Swan,” he offers, placing his mug on the end table. It’s been empty for awhile, but he must have been holding onto it simply so he’d have something to do with his hands. “It’s a hell of a lot more convenient for me to move. My finances are more flexible, I don’t have to worry about finding employment in a certain city, and I can fly back to Santa Monica to be with my family whenever I need. Work for me isn’t always in LA. It rarely is. I can be based somewhere else.”

 

“What about your house? You love that house.”

 

“What about it? I can keep it. I’ll rent or buy an apartment here, maybe something down by the harbor, and that way we don’t have to broach the conversation of moving in together if you don’t want to. We can have our separate spaces.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Unless you want to,” he interrupts, reaching his hand across the cushions until it’s placed on her knee, his fingers squeezing her skin. “I just – bloody hell, Emma. I would love to live with you, but I figured it might be too much for you at once.”

 

“Fuck that.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Fuck that, Killian,” she chuckles, the sound leaning a bit on the sadistic side. “Killian, I know that I’m more skittish than most normal human beings, but disregarding this weekend, when have I ever run from you? I haven’t. Yes, this is all scary as hell, and I thank you for being so considerate with me all the time. But I want you to tell me what _you_  want. I want to know exactly how you feel about things, not how you feel filtered so that you think you won’t scare me.”

 

He lunges forward so quickly that she doesn’t have more than a moment to prepare herself before his body is covering hers as well as his lips, her breath completely leaving her the moment Killian makes contact. It’s not at all what she was expecting, but she doesn’t mind as she gets to feel the softness of his lips, the taste of coffee lingering on them, mixed with the roughness of his beard on her. It hasn’t been that long since they last did this, only a few days really, but it feels like a lifetime.

 

“I want to move in with you,” he huskily whispers, their mouths still so close that they don’t completely part as they talk. His breath and his body are warm, and she sinks further into the couch cushions as she blinks her eyes up at him, that light blue turning a little darker. “I think it should be Boston. I really do, Emma. It’s not just to make you happy. I think it’s the best solution for us right now, and maybe one day in the future, we can move back to Santa Monica. We don’t have to have everything figured out, but I think this is a good step. I have been thinking about this for a long time, longer than this weekend, but I didn’t know how to say it.”

 

“Thank you,” she mumbles before grazing his lips again as her hands trace up and down his back, landing at the dip between his hips and his ass. She’s so damn glad that he spoke to her like that. “Thank you for telling me how you actually feel. We’re partners, okay? It’s not just about me or just about you.”

 

“Aye, I know. But what do you think about me moving to Boston, about us finding a place?”

 

“What? This place isn’t good enough for you?”

 

“Swan.”

 

“I know, I know. Deflecting.” She moves her hands over his back again, feeling just how real and how present he is even as he presses down on her with their breaths still intermingling. “I mean, I kind of like it. I still think maybe we should be super nerdy and make a pro-con list about things before we pay a deposit, and I’m kind of terrified that maybe we’ll start hating each other if we spend more than a week together with no end in sight.”

 

“So separate bedrooms then?”

 

“Definitely not. Wherever we live has to have your mattress, though.”

 

“That’ll likely stay in the house. We can get a new mattress though.”

 

“What about mine?”

 

“Swan, I have every intention of making good use of that mattress in about two minutes, but it either has to go burn somewhere or we keep it in a spare bedroom.”

 

“I’m not sure whether I want to talk about the fact that you think we’re getting a two-bedroom apartment or whether I want to talk about this whole two minute thing.”

 

“The two minute thing, and then afterwards, we can talk about everything else, make that damn list of yours so that you can try to convince me that Santa Monica is better for us right now even though we both know that it’s not.”

 

She laughs as he captures her lips again, and the sound disappears to be replaced by her gasp, everything else drowning out for a quick moment. There’s always been something so intoxicating about him, about Killian, and while some things with them are still new, there are others that feel like they’ve been doing it for years. The way he kisses her, his ability to take her breath away, that’s one of them. She hopes that it never stops, that it never changes. Life is hard, relationships likely more difficult, and it all evolves and changes over time. But maybe some things can stay the same.

 

Or maybe they can evolve in a good way.

 

“Has it been two minutes?”

 

“I’ve got no bloody clue, but I don’t think it even matters.”

 

There’s a pointed rolls of his hips into hers, once, twice, three times, before he’s actually rolling off of her, a groan emanating from the back of his throat as he stands up, his limbs obviously aching a bit. She’d crack a joke about him being an old man, but she herself feels a little lifeless pressed into the couch, the cushions molding into her body. Killian offers his hands, and she takes them, allowing him to pull her up and onto her feet before he’s dipping his head and running his lips over her wrist, something that always causes nearly every inch of her skin to stand on edge in the best way. She knows that when he does that, he’s saying he loves her. He’s never admitted that in the exact words, but she knows.

 

She also knows that she doesn’t have as many eloquent and thoughtful ways to express her feelings for Killian, that she tries her best, but she doesn’t have a spot to kiss or flowery words to reassure him how much he’s loved. But she does want to reassure him of that, to make sure he knows how much she is in this for the long haul too, and maybe one day she’ll get better at letting Killian know that he has completely turned her life into something not unrecognizable, but different.

 

In an infinitely good way.

 

But she’ll figure all of that out later as she tugs at Killian’s t-shirt until he’s helping her take it off, dark hair covering lean muscles now exposed to her gaze as her nail traces up and down his skin, her eyes not finding his even though she knows that he’s looking at her.

 

She’s taking things deliberately slowly, savoring it even though every inkling she has tells her to go faster, and apparently Killian feels the same. He’s just acting on it.

 

“You in a hurry there?” she asks as his hands fumble with her shirt, yanking it up over her head even with the way he’s deliciously trailing his lips against her neck. He’s eager and a bit rough, and her legs are already beginning to lose a bit of their strength.

 

“Yes.”

 

A giggle escapes her lips, her breath already uneven, and she pushes his chest to make him move away from the couch. It could work, but she’s got other ideas. “I thank you for your honesty.”

 

“I would thank you to stop teasing me and to get these bloody pants off.”

  
  
“So impatient.”

 

“Again, yes.”

 

It’s faster after that, the two of them officially stumbling back into her bedroom, clothes hastily being pulled off and dropped to the floor. Killian’s hands land on her thighs, warm and rough, and her stomach twists in anticipation as he picks her up for a brief moment and deposits her on the mattress, his tongue constantly moving against the flesh of her collarbone while she arches her back up, their hips coming together in such a way that she and Killian both groan at the contact.

 

“You’re a damned tease,” Killian whispers against her lips. She can feel every inch of his skin on hers, the hair on his chest brushing against her breasts and creating friction, and she can feel how he rests heavily between her thighs, gooseflesh rising on her bare skin once more. She’s missed him. She can’t comprehend how she could miss someone so much when she just saw him, but she has. She’s missed him, and she loves him. “A bloody minx.”

 

“I know,” she manages to murmur right back, hooking her arms underneath his shoulders and running her nails against his back and between his shoulder blades, the muscles twitching with every touch as he grunts in response, slanting his lips over hers until she can’t breathe. She knows breathing is important and everything, but she’s okay with the lack of air for right now. She’s not going to die from it.

 

She might die from the way when Killian releases her, he moves down her body, tracing every inch of her skin with the softness of his lips and the harshness of his beard, a contrasting combination that causes the pleasure to increase in between her thighs. Then his mouth is on her breast, lips closing around her nipple, and she swears if magic existed, it would feel exactly like that. She needs it to feel exactly like that, especially as Killian expertly works her up, his tongue lavishing her while one of her hands bunches into the sheets and the other into his hair, likely a bit too rough.

 

He doesn’t stay long, though, her hand in his hair not keeping him there, and he moves down her stomach, kissing and whispering against the muscles of her skin as her entire body hums. She wants to speak, has a million words on her tongue, but all she can really focus on is Killian’s tongue on her inner thigh and the way that he’s nibbling her skin so close to where she’s aching. She’s never been the best with words, but right now she simply doesn’t know any.

 

Anticipation is building, his breath hot on her flesh, and with her eyes closed to try to calm herself down, it takes her a moment to realize that his mouth is no longer situated over where she wants him and is instead working its way back up her body. Every inch of hair she has is standing up, even the ones on her head, and she imagines it makes quite the look.

 

“What are you doing?” she whines, opening her eyes so that she’s suddenly engrossed in the deep, dark blue of Killian’s. How many colors can his eyes be in such a short period of time? They’re kind of like magic too, she guesses.

 

He hums, but he doesn’t say anything, his lashes landing against his cheeks before opening up again. When he runs his thumbs over her cheekbones, all of her focus is pulled away from the way that she can feel his arousal against her thigh, the heat of it likely more than the heat of her skin, but she can’t focus on anything except the softness of his gaze. It’s almost as if he’s memorizing her features, memorizing her, and she does the same for a moment, watching a freckle by his nose.

 

“When I first saw you on that video, I thought you were so beautiful even in that damn sweater. I can’t – I never could have imagined that you would be the love of my life.”

 

Well, fuck. That is not at all what she was expecting, and as the tears pool in her eyes, all she can do is kiss him, harsh and demanding mixed in with the occasional soft movement as their tongues tangle together in a warm, wet dance. She pushes him to roll over, whispering words too, and her lips trail along his skin in the same way that his did to hers, making his muscles twitch as she explores him and lets him feel how much she loves him too.

 

It’s like she’s breathing him in and letting instinct carry her as she moved above him.

 

“I love you,” she murmurs against his hipbone before she’s taking him in hand and pumping him a few times, the guttural groan he emits leisurely making its way down her body in the form of a shiver until she’s maneuvering herself above him and joining them together on a deep sigh. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

 

So maybe her words aren’t as flowery, but they get the meaning across.

 

Her hands find their way to his chest, gripping into the hair, and his land on her hips, helping to guide her as she moves up and down. Her entire body is a mixture of emotion and the haziness of pleasure, each thrust, each push and pull, each trace of Killian’s fingers over her skin making her lose herself a bit more as her stomach tightens and everything else loosens. Before she knows it, they’re moving, Killian slipping out of her for a brief moment that feels like the longest ten seconds in the world, before his body is hovering over hers, lips devouring her, and yet he stays completely still inside of her.

 

“KJ,” she whispers, and he pulls back to look at her, brows furrowed together as he stares at her again, “are you going to move?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I just – ” He stops talking to kiss her cheek, the gesture somehow more intimate than them being joined together in the most intimate of places. “I don’t know. I got lost in my head for a moment.”

 

She runs her hand across his cheek, tapping her fingers against the skin while she swivels her hips for the lightest bit of friction and relief. “That’s okay if you did.”

 

“Aye,” he mumbles before fiercely snapping his hips into hers, her body and the bed moving with him as the pleasure resumes more quickly than she ever could have imagined, her hands gripping into the sheets and into his skin simply so that she does not turn to dust beneath him. He’s a man on a mission who’s making her get lost in her head as the bedframe creaks (they’re definitely not keeping this one) and she swears that it almost falls out from underneath them.

 

Or maybe that’s just her. Maybe her body is so on edge, so ready to fall, that she can do little more than listen to Killian’s whispers in her ears while her legs wrap around his waist and he continues to move with her and within her.

 

“Fuck,” he groans against her skin, the vibrations nothing with the way that she’s tingling. “You are so magnificent.”

 

She almost says thank you, really and truly, but then the coil that’s been building bursts inside of her as sweat grows all over her heated skin and Killian’s mouth whispers delicious, filthy, sweet words into the strained cords of her neck as she falls apart beneath him. Even with the slight numbing feeling that she has, her mind not fully there for a brief moment, she makes the effort to move with Killian, to let her hips swivel as his do the same. She can tell that he’s close, the flushed skin and insistent thrusts giveaways, and she tries to coax him through it, to lead him to the end even as a pleasure starts to hum within her once more.

 

But then he’s falling apart too, his thrusts coming once, twice, three times more, before he groans practically every filthy word she’s ever heard and lands on top of her with a gentle thud, his weight only uncomfortable for a moment as the “I love you” he whispered makes its way into her brain as well.

 

“We should fight more often if it’s going to be like that.”

 

“Shut up,” she giggles as she looks up at the smirk he’s currently got going on, his hair disheveled and face still flushed. He’s being cheeky and maybe a bit smug, and she can do nothing put push back his hair, sweat moving back with it as she makes an attempt to catch the breath that’s been so evasive today. “We weren’t even fighting today. That was more…celebratory.”

 

“Well, my love,” he sighs, leaning his forehead down to rest against hers, nose pushing into her cheek, “we should have this combination of makeup sex and celebratory sex more often.”

 

“You know, every time we fight you can’t just ask me to move in with you. That would be impractical.”

 

“Eh, well, I’ll figure something out. And I was so right.”

 

“About what?”

 

 He moves them as much as he can, the bed squeaking with each thrust of his hips. “We’ll have to get a new bed. This one makes too much damn noise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More conversation will be had in the next chapter, but I hope you enjoyed this one :D
> 
> I'm on Tumblr at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com)


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

“What about this one?”

 

“Too small.”

 

“This one?”

 

“Too expensive.”

 

“Emma.”

 

“Killian.”

 

“For fuck’s sake, you have to like something, Swan,” he mutters under his breath before slamming his laptop shut and running his hand through his hair, fingers sticking in the unwashed strands, while he tries to calm his breathing and himself before he truly goes off on Emma after having listened to her rejections on apartments for the better part of the last three hours. He’s rejected a few things too, but damn, they’re never going to find anything if it keeps going like this.

 

He’s just going to go off on Emma’s TV stand. Not break it or anything. Just complain to it about how they can’t find a home for it.

 

“ _Okaaay_ , so we need a break from apartment hunting,” Emma sighs, slouching down on the couch and propping her feet up on the coffee table, mismatched socks on full display to him. He wonders if she ever matches her socks. Probably not. It’s kind of charming. They’ve been looking online for hours, and she’s likely right. It’s nearly impossible right now. They need a breather. “What do you want to watch?”

 

“I feel like we need to talk about why we’re having issues finding a place.”

 

“Probably because we just decided to move in together yesterday, and you and I have totally different budgets.”

 

“I told you, love,” he sighs, twisting his head to look at her even as she avoids looking at him, “I want to buy a place. It’s better than renting. It’s equity, and we can renovate if we need to.”

 

“I can’t afford to buy these places, though. I know you can, but I’d like to contribute something.” Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes darting over to him before they look back at the television while her fingers tap against her legs, a series of nervous ticks if he’s ever seen them. He knew that was going to be a thing, but they’re not going to avoid issues anymore. They’re going to talk about them and figure them out even if it’s uncomfortable. “I’m not saying…I’m not saying I don’t have faith in us or whatever, but – ”

 

“Darling, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll get both of our names on the deed, or just yours, or whatever the hell you want so that if we break up, you don’t have to worry about moving. Or hell, you sell it, and then you buy what you want.”

 

She finally looks at him then, a brow raised on her forehead so that it wrinkles, and he can do nothing but smile as he watches the features on her face change while she thinks. She’s going to agree. She’s going to be a bit of an arse about it, but she’s going to agree. He also knows that she’s likely going to be the one who ends up finding the damn place while walking down the street instead of finding one after hours and days and weeks of searching.

 

He’s probably getting a little too much enjoyment out of this.

 

He’s really damn excited to be looking for a place to live with Emma.

 

_With Emma._

 

That’s just…that’s insane. And it’s wonderful. So wonderful.

 

He’s a sap.

 

“So what you’re saying is that if I rip your heart out, I not only get to keep the apartment, but I have the possibility to profit off of it?”

 

“Aye.”

 

Slowly but surely her lips begin to curve into a smile, her teeth showing and face scrunching up into a smile. God, he’d do anything to get to see that smile every day of his life. He’s working on it. He really is.  “You are a sucker, KJ. You know that?”

 

He simply shrugs, moving his laptop over to the side before he slides over onto the cushions and pulls Emma to him so he can leave an obnoxiously loud smacking kiss on her cheek. He’s so goddamn happy to see her, to be with her both figuratively and literally, and he doesn’t care in the slightest over Emma teasing him or thinking he’s crazy. Really, he’s glad for it.

 

Emma is the woman he wants to be with. There’s not a doubt in his mind about that. He wants her to be the person he’s beside for the rest of his life even when they’re fighting, and while, yes, he knows that things could hit the fan in a spectacular fashion, he has hope. So, yeah, this could either be the best or worst real estate decision he’s ever going to make.

 

He’s thinking the best.

 

“I’m a sucker for you.”

  
  
“That’s only a good line when the Jonas Brothers sing it.”

 

“I could sing it if you want me to.”

 

She hums, closing her eyes and pushing at his shoulder until he moves back to where he was sitting. It’s only a few moments before Emma is curling in on her side and wrapping her arms around his waist while her head rests on his chest and his hand rests on the bare skin of her stomach under her t-shirt, warmth permeating from the skin while the smell of the vanilla in her shampoo reaches his nose.

 

“While that sounds like a fantastic idea and something I’m going to take you up on later,” she murmurs against the material of his t-shirt, “I think we need to keep looking at these apartments before you realize just how bad of a real estate decision you’re making here. But, like, later. I can’t look at another place where everything is monochromatic white.”

  
  
“Robin would be appalled by your hatred of the all white.”

  
  
“Does he know?”

  
  
“Know what?”  
  


“That you might move? Babe, I know we’ve talked about it until our faces turned blue in the past twenty-four hours, but you’ve got to tell Robin and Will. And you’ve really got to tell your family, probably in person. I can go with you if you want. Maybe we can fly back on Friday. I’m sure our faces will have morphed to purple by then.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“The purple thing? Yeah.”

 

“No,” he laughs, walking his fingers up her back, “the you coming with me to talk to my family this weekend.”

 

“I mean, yeah. Let’s keep looking for a place, maybe set up a few viewings for the next time you’re out here, but then we’ve got to tell your family and talk about it with them. I just hope they won’t hate me. I mean, I’ll still move to California, but I – ”

  
  
“They love you,” he interrupts, ignoring her offer to move to California. She’s offered enough times that he doesn’t know if he can hear it again. Boston is the best decision for them right now, and they’re sticking with it. “Aiden loves you as much as Leo loves me.”

  
  
“As reassuring as that is,” she sighs while nuzzling into his stomach again, her hand resting on his knee and tracing his skin with her fingernail, “I was kind of concerned with the adults. Should we tell my friends together too?”

 

“Nah, I thought maybe I’d just move and they’d figure it out when I showed up to every damn dinner.”

 

“It might take them awhile to notice.”

 

“Weeks most likely.”

 

“So maybe we should just tell them. I’ll get them a little card and some chocolate to soften the blow of finding out that I’ve decided to stick with ya, honey bunches.”

 

“Swan, I swear if you start calling me all of those ridiculous names I’ll – ”

 

“You’ll what? Break up with me? Can you wait until we own a fancy apartment so I can make some big bucks without lifting a finger?”

 

He should have never suggested that. She’d never do something like that, but she’s definitely going to tease him about it.

 

“I hate you.”

 

“I love you too, sweet cheeks.”

 

* * *

 

“Killy,” Leo screeches the moment they walk into the Nolan’s house the next night, David running behind him with wide eyes and a heaving chest. What the hell have the two of them been doing?

 

“Hi, buddy,” he laughs, reaching down and picking Leo up so he doesn’t run out the front door, all of the features on David’s face relaxing for just a moment. Dave looks far older than he did the last time Killian saw him, so the first few days of having more than one kid must have really taken their toll. “Did you miss me?”

 

“Yep. I have a brother.”

 

“I heard, little lad. You’re an older brother now, yeah?”

 

“Uh huh,” Leo sighs, relaxing in his arms and looking over at Emma who’s picking up the bags of groceries they brought even if Emma already brought over some frozen meals earlier this week. He figures if they’re going to invade parents of a newborn and a toddler, the least they can do is bring some food. “Is Superman here?”

 

Emma chuckles next to him, a glint of amusement in her eyes, and she moves her brows across her forehead. “No, but super Emma is.”

 

“I want Superman.”

 

“Leo,” David sighs, his eyes still a little heavy even as he greets Emma by kissing her cheek, “you have to be nice. Killian and Emma came to play with you.”

 

“It’s alright, mate. I’d want to see Superman over boring old me any day.”

 

“His clothes are a lot tighter than yours, so I second that.”

 

He rolls his eyes at Emma before he passes by she and David and makes his way into the kitchen with Leo, grabbing a bag of groceries from Emma on the way so he can unload them even with Leo babbling in his ear about anything and everything from his brother to his toys to the squirrel that was in the backyard yesterday. He and Leo have become good buddies over the past few months, and if it annoys Emma a little bit over how Leo will pick him over her, that’s only justified for how she’s stolen Aiden from him.

 

Not literally stolen, but that’s how it feels when Aiden would rather sleep on her chest than on his.

 

Then again, she’s got a fantastic chest…which is not at all the thing to be thinking when talking about a child’s napping preferences.  

 

Then again – nope. Not going there.

 

“Where’s your mummy?” he asks Leo as he places the bunch of bananas on their countertop and stuffs the plastic bags in the container the Nolans keep of them under their sink. How the hell does he know where they keep their plastic bags?

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Of course you don’t,” he murmurs under his breath before he moves away from the counters and makes his way to the living room where he can hear Emma and David talking before he even gets to the archway.

 

“You’re sure about this?” David questions, arms crossed over his chest and back straight in what Killian assumes is his position for when he interrogates suspects. David at work has got to be a sight to see. Maybe he’ll ask to shadow him one day. Lie and say it’s for a role simply so he can mess with the man.

 

“I mean, yeah. I love him and want a future with him. It’s been so hard even when it’s been good, and it’s only going to get worse when he’s working more or when we’ve been together longer, I think.”

 

“And he didn’t want you to move to LA?”

 

“He did. I did. I didn’t want him to feel like he has to give up anything for me, but we both agreed here is better for now. Maybe in the future we’ll move there. I don’t really know. It’s a lot of logistics.”

 

“If this is what you want, I’m happy for you.”

 

“Please,” Emma laughs, her eyes glancing to him in a way that he knows is her telling him she’s been aware he’s been creepily lurking in the archway, “don’t you at all pretend that you’re not thrilled that Killian’s going to be around more. I know he’s your favorite of my boyfriends that I keep toting around on each arm.”

 

The cheeky little minx that is his girlfriend.

 

“He’s in the room, isn’t he?”

 

“I knew you loved me, Dave,” Killian chuckles, walking further in with Leo who’s been surprisingly quiet this entire time. Obviously, his bud is meant to be an eavesdropper too. “I was thinking about buying the house right next door to here. We can even connect the houses if you want. That way I can visit you at night so we can have a cup of tea and chat all about our preferences for running shoes.”

 

“You’re obnoxious.”

 

“But you love me, right Leo? Does your daddy love me?”

 

“Yeah, Daddy loves Killy.”

 

“For f – ”

 

“Oh boy,” Emma smiles, shaking her head from side to side with the most precious smile tugging at her lips. “Babe, you’re going to make David curse in front of his kid. I suggest you don’t make his anxiety heighten by threatening to move in with him.”

 

“Not a threat, love,” he explains as he puts Leo down on the ground so he can play with some of his toys. “Just a very good offer to be roommates with the Nolans. Wouldn’t you like to do that?”

 

“There is literally no good way for me to answer that.”

 

He winks. “Exactly. So where’s Mary Margaret?”

 

“She and Brody are sleeping,” David explains as they all finally sit down, the couch moving under he and Emma’s weight. “They had a late night last night, so I hope she’s getting some sleep now. If she knew you guys were here, though, she’d be down here in a second, sleep deprivation not at all a worry, especially because you guys are apparently moving in together. She’d be all over that.”

 

“She’s far too invested in my life,” Emma jokes as her fingers start messing with the hair at the nape of his neck, shivers running down his spine with every delicate touch. God, she’s good at playing with his hair. She does this thing with her finger and damn, it’s amazing. She also does this thing with her tongue…but now is not the time for him to think about that. He’s obviously got to get his mind out of the gutter. “But she should definitely sleep. Is it about the same as with Leo?”

 

David shrugs while he wipes the sleep away from his eyes. “It’s different because we’re not as clueless and also have two kids to manage, but mostly it’s different because Brody is not at all as calm. It’s kind of like night and day, but we’ll figure it out. I think she’s honestly more stressed about us not having everything done because we’d put a few things off. He showed up a bit early to the party.”

 

“We can help, you know? That’s why we’re here. I didn’t buy you food just because I wanted to eat.”

 

“You ate a cereal bar on the way here,” Emma teases, and he twists his head to look at her and the same playful glint she had in her eyes earlier. He can’t stop thinking about how Emma was talking about how she wants a future with him without any hesitation in her voice. He knows that she wants it, knows that she loves him, but something about hearing her tell David about it has calmed him about this transition they’re about to make.

 

He was already calm. He’s just…he’s happy. Content.

 

“That was supposed to be a secret.”

 

“I’ve never been very good at keeping those.”

 

“Really now? Because unless you’re being weird and channeling Mary Margaret, I don’t think that’s true. Though, I’m kind of conflicted on whether or not I want you to be a good liar.”

 

“You probably don’t, KJ. Also, props on joking about Mary Margaret when David is right there.”

 

Emma raises her hand to give him a high five, and he laughs as he slaps her palm before interlacing their fingers and bringing her wrist to his so he can brush a kiss there.

 

“You come into my home, you steal my child away from me, you make fun of my wife, and worst of all, you eat my cereal bars.”

 

“It’s a hard knock life for you, Dave. Sorry about that.”

 

“You’re most definitely not.”

 

“You’ll never know because I’m a much better liar than Emma.”

 

“Hey,’ she groans, slapping his head instead of playing with his hair, “we just talked about how that was not a good thing.”

 

“For you. I said nothing about me.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Language.”

 

“David.”

 

The three of them spend the rest of the evening talking about everything from baseball to the apartments and houses they’ve looked at, David offering to let them know if he sees anything they might like, before Emma offers to go heat up one of the casserole dishes so that they can eat dinner. Mary Margaret eventually comes down with Brody, the little lad as small as can be wrapped up in his pajamas with a hat on his head. He looks just like Leo from what Killian can tell, and when Mary Margaret offers to let him hold Brody, he takes the opportunity, even if holding someone else’s newborn child will never not be terrifying.

 

Seriously. They’re so small and fragile, and no human being should ever have a self-destruct button on top of their head.

 

“I’m so happy for you guys,” Mary Margaret sighs as she takes a sip of her water while David and Emma are in the kitchen finishing up dinner. Brody is staring up at him in between his fits of sleeping, and Killian’s pretty sure he’s been running his fingers over the lad’s stomach for the past half hour. It’s weirdly soothing. “I know Emma would die of mortification if I made it out to be a big deal, but this is _such_  a big deal. She trusts you and loves you so much, and it’s a nice thing to see after watching that not happen over and over again.”

 

He smiles at Mary Margaret, something soft to keep things calm, because when he looks at her, she might as well be radiating out of her skin with excitement and eagerness to talk about it. She and Anna would probably hit it off like mad. Or maybe they’d hate each other. There can likely only be so much positive energy in a single room at one time.

 

Maybe they’ll have to meet outdoors.

 

But she’s right. He knows all of the dirty details of Emma’s past like she knows all of his, and them trusting each other and loving each other is a big thing.

 

“Well, I’m grateful that she’s given me the opportunity to be that kind of partner for her,” he admits, getting up from the couch and carefully placing Brody in his seat on the coffee table. “I was so damn anxious after this weekend because I knew we’d have to make a step like this at some point, and while I’ve never really doubted that Emma wanted to be with me, that’s still terrifying, you know?”

 

“Absolutely. I haven’t always been an overtired mom with a so-called ‘settled’ life. David and I went through all of that too. We didn’t live across the country from each other, but a relationship is a relationship. Sometimes even the good things are terrifying.”

 

“You sound like Elsa.”

 

“Well, I’ve never met her, but I’m pretty much Emma’s Elsa. We’re obligated to give advice even if we have no idea what we’re saying.”

 

So maybe she’s like Elsa too.

 

“That’s reassuring.”

  
  
“That’s life. You guys will be good, and as much as I love my boys, I expect you guys to have a guest room for me so I can take a nap in a kid-free, husband-free space.”

 

“Of course we can do that, milady,” he laughs before taking a step forward and leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll add it to our list.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Though, you might be stuck with Emma’s awful mattress and bedframe, so I’m not sure how much you’ll want to be sleeping over.”

 

“If I can sleep diagonally, I’ll sleep on a bed of nails.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, you’re weird.”

 

“Love, this is not weird.”

 

“It so is,” Emma laughs as they walk past a Starbuck’s at the airport, the line stretching around the ropes and out into the walkway. “Who in the world walks up and down the entire terminal to, and I quote ‘explore the architecture’ instead of sitting down and messing around with their phone?”

 

He shrugs before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing her cheek underneath her baseball cap, rubbing his scruff into her skin simply so her entire face will scrunch up in the way that he likes. “I do. You see the most interesting things in airports. If you just sit at your gate, you miss so much. I mean, however will you know that you can get a customized Boston Red Sox neck pillow if you’re just waiting for your plane to take off?”

 

“I’m leaning _so_  much about you today.”

 

“I don’t really appreciate your teasing tone there, Swan.”

 

“What?” she laughs, guiding them into a small bookstore. “It’s so true, KJ. You get anxious going through security even though you are a pro at traveling and then after that, you like to explore airports. You’re a fascinating man.”

 

“You’re too easily entertained. Why are we looking at books?”

 

“I need something to do on the plane. I’m not sure that ours has movies.”

 

“It does. I checked.”

 

“Oh,” she sighs, putting the book she was looking at down and clapping her hands together. “Then there’s no way in hell I’m paying fifteen dollars for a bad romance novel then. Let’s go get some coffee and a donut or something.”

 

“We ate before we got here.”

 

“That doesn’t mean we can’t eat donuts, KJ,” she says as her eyes roll before she’s walking out of the store with her carry-on trailing behind here.

 

A woman on a mission for donuts.

 

Flying with Emma for the first time is definitely an adventure, and they haven’t even made it out of the shops yet. He’s honestly so amused by her all of the time, and he already knows that she’s going to buy a dozen donuts to eat on the plane even if she’ll only eat two of them and give the rest of them away.

 

Because a stranger giving away donuts while thirty thousand feet in the air is definitely something no one will find the slightest bit sketchy.

 

Emma doesn’t buy an entire dozen donuts or hand them out on the plane, but she does buy each of them one with their cups of coffee that they finish off while still exploring the terminal. He falls asleep about halfway through the flight, and when he wakes, their pilot is announcing their arrival time. It’s late even with the time change, so he and Emma hurry out of the airport and get back to his house before falling asleep without even bothering to change out of their clothes.

 

“Are you nervous?” she asks him the next morning as she brushes out her hair while he shaves for the first time in a little over a week, the red in his beard showing through more than usual.  
  


He is a little nervous to tell his family that he’s moving, to talk about all that’s coming up, but he also knows that they likely expect it, especially Elsa. It doesn’t make the blow any less hard, but he does think it may ease it the slightest bit. If anything, he thinks that Will and Robin might take it the hardest, Roland even more so, and the guilt does weigh on him a bit. But this is the right decision. He knows that it is. They’ve talked about it, thought about it, and he wouldn’t be doing this if it’s not what he wanted.

 

It’ll be a new normal and it’ll take awhile to adjust to things, but he’ll figure it out. They’ll both figure it out. He’s not giving up anything. His life is simply going through another adjustment period. But this one is a good one.

 

“Aye, a little bit,” he admits, running his razor across his jaw, “but they’ll be fine.”

 

“They’ll miss you,” Emma sighs, putting her brush down and walking over to him so that she wraps her arms around his stomach and kisses between his shoulder blades before he can feel her nuzzle her face in his skin. “You’ll visit a lot though. I will too. And maybe we can get them to come out to visit us. I think they’d like Boston.”

 

“We do have a hell of a lot of miles that they can travel with.”

 

“Trust me, I know. I can cash them in for a bunch of Amazon gift cards, and I’ve resisted the urge.”

 

“The height of selflessness.”

 

When they get to Liam’s place for lunch, he and Elsa are standing in the garage going through storage containers, piles of them scattering the floor with their cars sitting in the driveway. It’s an absolute mess. He had no idea that they even had this much stuff out here, and he’s sure that they’ve likely already cleaned out half of it.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be cooking, Jones?” he calls out as he slams his door closed. “I was under the impression that you guys were going to be feeding me today.”

 

“I swear to God, Killian, you better be talking to your brother and not me.”

 

“Of course I am, lass,” he promises, walking over to Elsa and kissing her cheek in greeting. “I like to impose as much difficulty on my brother as I can.”

 

“That’s why I love you,” Elsa sighs before he sees her turn her head to look at Emma. “Oh my gosh am I happy to see you,” she squeals, quickly running toward Emma and wrapping her in a hug while he does the same to his brother. “I know it’s been less than a week, but I was worried about you.”

 

He doesn’t hear the rest of what Emma and Elsa are saying as he talks to Liam, the music that’s playing in the background drowning them out as he focuses on Liam.

 

“So you’re good?” he asks, squeezing Killian’s shoulder while his eyes scan his face, slanting for a moment before widening so he can see the blue that he always associates with his brother. “You two are good? This isn’t a ‘we’ll still love you both even though Mummy and Daddy aren’t together anymore’ kind of talk?”

 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes the slightest bit as he shakes his head from side to side. He had talked to Liam a bit about what was going on, if only because he knew Elsa would let some of it slip. And also because his brother is his best friend who is privy to most of his thoughts. “No, it’s not that. It’s actually,” he turns his head to glance over his shoulder at Emma who’s still animatedly talking to Elsa, her hands flying all over the place while her face is brightened by her smile, “kind of the opposite of that.”

 

“Bloody hell. Are you getting married?”

 

His heart practically flies up to his throat, constricting his breathing for a moment before it settles back down into its regular resting place. That’s not…he wants to but – later. Later is the time to talk about that. “No, no. We’re not getting married, but we are, um…well – ” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts. He most definitely did not plan on telling Liam standing in his garage with Queen blaring over the speakers. “I’m moving to Boston,” he finally blurts out, the words freeing once they slip past his lips and into the air.

 

Liam blinks a few times, his lips slightly parting before they close and press into a smile, one that opens up so that Liam’s entire face is full of smile lines before suddenly Killian’s being pulled back into a hug, the warmth that radiates from his brother enveloping him as Liam pats him on the back several times as he whispers in his ear.

 

“I’m so damn happy for you. That’s – bloody hell, Killian. I can’t believe you’re making this kind of commitment. I can, but God – that’s amazing.”

 

“You’re not upset?”

 

“Of course not. I’m going to miss you, and I don’t imagine my wife’s reaction will be quite this happy, but this is a good thing. You deserve it.”

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs into Liam’s shoulder before pulling back, stepping out of his embrace and reaching up behind his ear so that he can scratch the shell, the urge irresistible. This is going so differently than he thought it would, but he’s not dumb enough to complain or question it. “How do you suppose I tell Elsa?”

 

“Quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. She’ll lose her mind if you do a big build up.”

 

“Aye, I know. I just don’t want to shock her.”

 

“Killian Jones,” Elsa screeches, coming over to him and slapping his shoulder before she places her hands on her hips and stares him down in such a way that it seems like she’s the one who’s half a foot taller, “you’re moving across the country, and you’re just now telling me?”

 

His eyes dart over her head to Emma who’s standing with her arms crossed over her chest and her bottom lip tugged between her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she mouths, shrugging her shoulders.

 

Looks like they both had the same willpower to keep their mouths shut.

 

“What do you mean just now? It’s only been a few days, Els.”

 

“You should have told me right after you decided. I could have helped.”

 

“With what?”

 

“Finding you an apartment or a house, you idiot,” she laughs, pulling him in for a hug that’s much rougher than the one Liam just gave her. Though she be but little, she is fierce. “I’ve never been to Boston, but I have my realtor’s license. I can help. It’s literally what I do for a living.”

 

“Darling, I know,” he chuckles into her hair before pulling back. “You helped me find my house here, but we’ve only just started looking. I don’t think we need to call in reinforcements just yet.”

 

“Can you believe he’s moving?” Elsa sighs, looking over to Liam before she pinches his cheeks. She’s literally pinching his cheeks. Maybe they all do need a little space. “Our little baby is growing up so fast.”

 

“You’re both incredibly obnoxious.”

 

“It’s just because we love you,” Elsa promises, pressing up on her toes and kissing his cheek where she’s just left it red. “And Emma. We love Emma too.”

 

“Nice to know I’m not chopped liver or something,” Emma sighs, walking over to stand next to them with the softest, most content smile on her face, “which is a super weird phrase if you think about it.”

 

“Swan, you’ve got to stop thinking about the origin of phrases.”

 

“Why? They’re all so weird.”

 

“You know what else is weird?” Liam questions, pulling out his phone and sliding his finger down so that the music quiets. “We were going to have chopped liver for lunch, so this is a great coincidence.”

 

“That’s disgusting.”

 

“Don’t even joke about that.”

 

“I’m never letting you cook again.”

 

“I’m obviously kidding,” Liam sighs, leaning down to pick up a box before he hits the button that closes the garage door. “I’ve got a roast cooking, and I’ll even let you guys open a good bottle of wine since we’re celebrating your move.”

 

“Oh, you’re so generous,” Emma jests as she walks to the door that lets them into the kitchen, patting Liam on the shoulder on her way. “I can’t believe I get to be the recipient to your kindness.”

 

“You’re being cheeky for someone who’s probably going to need my help learning what to do and not do when living with Killian.”

 

Emma pauses in the doorway, sticking her head back out from where she’d walked inside the house. She seems to be thinking of something to say, her brows furrowed together, but then her lips are curling into a wicked smile and he sees her wink. She winks about like him, though. It’s so damn obvious when it’s supposed to be subtle. He loves it.

 

“You say this, but I also have a very big advantage that you never had when it comes to dealing with the clean freak over there.”

 

“And what’s that, love?”

 

“When he’s mad at me, I can just have sex with him.”

 

He’s never seen Liam look so horrified in his life, his eyes blown wide and brows raised while his lips continue to open and close, whatever words he had dying on his tongue.

 

“Yeah,” Elsa sighs, patting her husband on the shoulder even as he stays frozen, “I always knew that I liked her. She can make you be quiet, and honestly, what more does a girl need?”


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

“So can you tell me again why I’m going apartment shopping with you today instead of Killian being here?”

 

“Because,” she begins, pulling on a jacket to fight off the early-October chill that’s really coming in this year, the temperatures dipping much lower than usual. All of September was like a blazing inferno until the calendar changed and suddenly a flip was switched for all of Boston to turn into a snow globe…just without the snow. Though, she wouldn’t be surprised if it decided to come early this year with how things are going. “Killian is meeting with the producers of his movie again so that they can do some screen tests with some other actors, so he can’t be here.”

 

“Okay, but, like, if he’s buying the place, shouldn’t he be here?”

 

“I mean, obviously Rubes,” she sighs, opening up her front door and holding it open for Ruby to walk through before she can lock it, “but he’s busy and I figured you could give me second opinions. Besides, we’ve already narrowed it down to these places anyways. He knows that he likes them. He just hasn’t physically seen them yet.”

 

“Well, my dear,” she begins, wrapping her arm around Emma’s shoulder as they walk toward the staircase, “I can be Killian for a day. Just don’t expect me to help you christen any of these places.”

 

“You know, some things that you think about, they should never be said out loud.”

 

“But I just love my darling Emma,” Ruby mocks, adding in what has to be the worst British accent she’s ever heard as she kisses her hair. “She’s just so damn pretty and has hair like gold. And my God, I want to marry her and let her have all of my beautiful babies so that we can be on billboards together.”

 

“Billboards?”

 

“Out of all of that, your focus was on billboards?”

 

She shrugs as much as she can with Ruby’s arm on her shoulder as they exit her building and walk to where her car is parked a few buildings over since she couldn’t get her usual parking spot last night. “Kind of seemed like an outdated thing. Figured you’d go with viral videos or something since we’re already so good at making those.”

 

“If I didn’t know you were talking about the Christmas video thing, I’d swear you were talking about a sex tape. Something to keep in mind if you ever say that out loud again.”

 

“You have issues.”

 

“Ooh,” Ruby gasps, moving her arm, “you two could be in Vogue. There we go. That’s where you and all of your pretty, pretty babies can have your pictures taken.”

 

She snickers underneath her breath, words escaping her for how to even respond to that as they load up into her bug. She is one hundred percent not ready to seriously think about babies right now, but she can indulge in the thought when Ruby is messing with her. She and Killian have casually talked about kids before, but it’s never been anything definite. They just know what they need to know for when their lives come to that point…sometime in the future. Right now they’re simply trying to find somewhere to live.

 

Plus, if she thinks about giving birth too much she really freaks out. Some shit goes down.

 

Sometimes literally.

 

Nope. No. not thinking about that.

 

“Whatever you say,” she laughs as she sits down in her seat and closes her car door, “but I can pretty much guarantee that you won’t be seeing my face on any billboards.”

 

“Eh, I could always rent one out myself. Anything is possible when you don’t care about wasting money and going into loads of debt just to mess with your friends.”

 

* * *

 

“Damn,” Ruby whistles as Emma trails her fingers along the marble countertop, tracing the gray line that moves throughout the island to break up the monotony of the white. “This is fancy. You’ve even got a view of the water out this window.”

 

“That would be all Killian’s preference,” she admits, walking away from the kitchen and through the living room to stand next to the open windows that look out onto the water, the docks filled with boats. “His house is on the beach, you know? And he likes to be near the water. I figure he should have at least that.”

 

“I mean, it’s not like the rest of this place is too shabby.”

 

“I know, I know. It’s just – ”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s so modern, and neither of us are very modern people, house wise. I mean, I’ve never really had the option to do anything other than thrift store ‘oh that’s kind of a cute chair,’ but I do like the traditional stuff. I think the clean lines kind of throw me off. It’s like it’s not lived in.”

 

“Well, it’s not. It’s new. Didn’t the realtor lady say that when she was showing us around? What was her name again?”

 

“Dorothy.”

 

“Like in the Wizard of Oz?”

 

“Yep,” she sighs, turning back around to go explore the kitchen now that they have free range of the place with Dorothy standing outside very obviously faking talking to someone else so that Emma thinks there’s another buyer. Sometimes she wonders if real estate agents know just how transparent they are. Not that she would ever tell Elsa that. She’s not about to mess things up there, and she’s sure that Elsa is fantastic at her job. Well, she knows she is. Elsa set them up with Dorothy’s agency and helped them find some of these places when they were in California last month. It’s like she’s sucking up even though literally no one can hear her thoughts. “She’s really sweet, but she kind of makes me nervous if only because I think I’m disappointing her whenever I don’t like a place.”

 

“Well, in all fairness, you probably are. She doesn’t get paid until you pay the big bucks.”

 

“True,” she admits before opening up the cabinets, checking their depth as if she knows how much space kitchen appliances take up when she owns the bare minimum. “She was flirting with you, you know?”

 

“Oh, I know,” Ruby agrees, her voice rising in pitch. “That’s why I felt so bad that I couldn’t remember her name.”

 

“Did her beauty just make you forget everything?” she teases, leaning back to smile at Ruby who’s got her bottom lip between her teeth while her fingers tap across the countertop. “Oh my God,” she gasps, closing the cabinet a little too loudly, “you like her.”

 

“Possibly,” she huffs, rolling her eyes before she hops up on the counter, legs swinging and heels clicking against the cabinets. She sits on counters a lot, and the white will likely get scuffed. That’s probably something to keep in mind. Apartment shopping is so damn overwhelming when you have to think about things like your friend’s heels scuffing the counters or Brody spitting up on the carpet when Mary Margaret brings him over. And literally a million other things. “I mean, I’ve spent about forty-five minutes with the woman as she shows you apartments in Boston I’d never dare step into on my own, but yeah, I don’t know. I felt a spark.”

 

“Did you actually just use the word spark to describe it?”

 

“Yes, don’t judge me. So this place is a no go?”

 

She nods her head, looking around one last time. “This place is a no go.”

 

Despite the fact that she and Killian mapped out every one of these places online before requesting a showing, she goes through seven of them hating nearly every one. One of the apartments literally had a bathtub next to a window that could be seen by anyone walking by on the sidewalk, and a home they walked into honestly made it feel like she was on some kind of old Naval boat. Seriously, there were a million different levels that were not shown online and the staircases made her feel claustrophobic. They keep striking out on things, and it’s starting to get a little disheartening.

 

There’s about a ninety percent chance Ruby is going to have a date after today, though, so at least one good thing has come out of this, especially because she knows that Ruby hasn’t dated much since she and Victor broke up, just a few nights out with people she’s met online that have not turned into anything.

 

At least those people weren’t murderers. Dorothy doesn’t seem like the murdering type, but you never know.

 

Such a fun thing to think about.

 

“So are you familiar with the area?” Dorothy asks as she lets them into another apartment, their last one on the list before they drive to Back Bay to look at a house that Killian likes that’s next to the river. The pictures online looked nice, but she wasn’t completely sold on how close the bedroom window was to a public park. At least it’s not like the bathtub thing.  

 

The risk of murderers being Tinder dates and peeping Toms looking into bedroom windows is not one she’s willing to joke around about.

 

Her mind is a wonderful place to live sometimes. It’s too bad there’s no real estate there.

 

No. Wait. That’s weird. She’s really got to stop looking at listings. She might be going a bit mad.

 

“I’ve been around here to eat a few times,” she admits, walking inside and immediately noticing the floor-to-ceiling windows that she loved online, the view of the harbor in this apartment even prettier in person as miles of water stretch out before her, “but I’ve never looked at the apartments over here. This is gorgeous.”

 

“Isn’t it? The views are great, and you’ve got to see it at night when all of the lights are turned on. You’ve got a great patio out there with a firepit that’s great for a date or hosting company or even just a quiet night in. You’d also have room for a small garden or something if you wanted to bring a little life in. I think the people who live below here have a nice little vegetable garden.”

 

“Yeah,” she sighs, walking past the living space to look through the kitchen. It’s modern, but it’s got these wood and copper accents that she really likes that make it feel a little more homey. Killian will love the counter space too. And the appliances. He’s got a thing about the appliances. He’s got a preference about a lot of things, but she doesn’t blame him. She does too. Just not about her appliances. “How many bedrooms is this one again?”

 

“It’s two technically, but there’s a spare sitting room that can easily be used as a guest or a nursery. I’ve seen that a lot lately.”

 

“Ems, I think Dorothy might be John Mulaney’s realtor,” Ruby whispers in her ear, and Emma has to stifle her laugh at the reference.

 

“She also said a guest room.”

 

“Well, if it’s going to be a guest room, I need to see it for when I come to visit.”

 

“You live twenty minutes from here.”

 

“Details.”

 

She continues to walk around the apartment, snapping a few pictures and sending them to Killian like she’s been doing all day so he can see things a little more clearly. She wishes that he were here, but work is work and no matter where they’re living, they’re always going to miss some things. It just won’t be everything. It’ll be better. Besides, he’ll be able to look on another day because this definitely isn’t a decision she should be making on her own when this is going to be their place.

 

Damn, that’s still a weird thing to think about after a month of knowing that this is real and that this is happening.

 

After their initial conversations and telling their families about everything, the excitement of the move and over moving in together wore down a bit so they could seriously think about the practicality of it all. There were a few times where she felt like her heart was actually in her throat while they were talking, but that never lasted long. She loves him, she wants to be with him, and she’s ready to make this step that should be a giant leap but kind of feels like she’s simply walking up to the Nolans’ house, like it’s natural.

 

That’s terrifying.

 

It’s also exhilarating.

 

They’re good, she and Killian. They fit. She knows that they do, and she’s not going to question the good things she has going.

 

Okay, she’s not going to question them _anymore_. She’s already done that, and she doesn’t need to continue to do that. She loves him, and this is going to work. They’re going to have a place that is theirs. There’s not going to be as much traveling or as many plane rides. She’s no longer going to need to worry about always having her neck pillow or about time changes when Killian’s at home and not working. She’s not going to get a ticket for speeding to the airport because she’s running late for a flight, and when she wakes up in the morning, there’s going to be the man she loves next to her.

 

And he’s not going to have to leave.

 

That’s the best part.

 

He gets to stay.

 

She’s so glad that he gets to stay.

 

Her phone rings in her hand, and she smiles to herself at the face that pops up. “Speak of the Devil,” she sighs as she answers the phone, holding it up to her ear and walking down the hallway to the master bedroom for some privacy.

 

“Now, Swan, I know I’m devilishly handsome and that you get to benefit from that, but I don’t think that makes me the Devil.”

 

She hums into the phone as she twists the knob and walks in. The furniture in here is very obviously staged, but she likes it, the bed sprawling out in the middle of the room with a fireplace in front of it and more large windows looking out into the harbor that have blinds attached. She’d bet those are blackout, and if they’re installed already, that means they come with the property. Elsa told her that. There’s some technical term for it, but she can’t remember.

 

“It just does, babe. Are you on your lunch break?”

 

“Yeah, I’m about to go grab a sandwich or something from the cafeteria.”

 

“You sound like a kid at school.”

 

“I promise you I’m not. It’s been a solid fifteen years since I was in school getting a sandwich from the cafeteria. What apartment are you looking at now?”  
  


“The Seaport District one. Um, I think it’s on Pier Avenue or something. I can’t remember even though we literally got here twenty minutes ago.”

 

“Oh, I like that one,” he mumbles into the phone while a horn beeps behind him. Is he walking in front of a car? It’s probably a golf cart. There are a million golf carts at the studio. “There’s a view of the water no matter which room you’re in.”

 

“Yeah, I think you’d like this one even more in person. There’s a lot of room too, and it’s not too modern. I feel like the only options in this town is everything having not been updated for fifty years or it’s like it’s trying to be in the space age.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed that too. What about the master bathroom and the closet?”

 

“Um,” she hums, walking away from the window and heading to the door that she assumes is the bathroom, “let me check now. You want to switch the facetime so you can see?”

 

“That’d be some smart thinking there, Swan.”

 

“Yeah whatever,” she sighs as she rolls her eyes, hitting the button to facetime him and waiting to for Killian’s face to pop up. When it does, it’s a slightly blurry version of him until she can clearly see his eyes under the baseball cap. “Well hello there, KJ.”

 

“Hello, darling,” he smiles, waving at her until he drops his phone, the device nearly tumbling to the ground before he catches it. Or she thinks he catches it because they’re still connected instead of the phone shattering. How the hell is he so clumsy sometimes? “Bloody hell, I was almost run over by a golf cart and nearly destroyed my phone. It’s rough having to look at your face.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Indeed,” he admits, moving his brows across his covered forehead and winking at her. “Now show me this bathroom, love. I need to see if all of your toothbrush accessories will fit in there.”

 

She groans, throwing her head back even as her lips curl into a smile while she walks into the bathroom, the light blue cabinets adding in a little color to the white marble that covers the countertops and the walls. It’s got the copper accents from the kitchen over both of the sinks, and she makes sure to show it to Killian so that he can see that there is indeed space for her toothbrush and all of its replacement heads. And toothpaste. She can also have toothpaste.

 

Dental hygiene and all.

 

Maybe she can have an entire drawer for her floss.

 

No, that’d be ridiculous. She’ll just share with Killian.

 

“See, there’s plenty of room.”

 

“It’s smaller than my house here.”

 

“Well, it’s an apartment in a crowded city. It’s not going to be like your house. I’ve still got an actual house to look at later today, but it’s smaller too. I really like this place though. I haven’t been too much of a fan of everything else.”

 

“Yeah, I’d seen a couple of your texts. Is the shower a good size?”

 

“It is,” she tells him, opening up the door before closing it and walking to the other end of the room for the closet. “And this is the closet. Is it big enough for your clothes and your ego?”

 

“The clothes, yes. The ego, not so much.”

 

“Well, I think you’d have to buy the building for that.”

 

“That is not happening. I guess you’ll just have to stuff it in there.”

 

“That’s what she said.”

 

“Well okay Michael Scott,” Killian laughs, his face crinkling with his laugher as he continues to move, the light fading as he enters a building. God, she loves when he smiles like that, and she loves when he’s smiling like that because of her. It’s such a little thing, but she loves when he’s happy.

 

And being happy isn’t a little thing. It’s a really big thing actually.

 

She’s glad that she makes him happy. Hopefully indefinitely.

 

If eighteen-year-old Emma could hear twenty-eight-year old Emma’s thoughts, she would be entirely convinced that they aren’t the same person. But they are. There’s just been some development. Some really damn good development that she’s proud of.

 

“I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

 

“Indeed you did. I like the place, Swan. I mean, we’ll have to look again when I come into town on Wednesday, okay? Just jot down your top three places, and we’ll arrange it with Dorothy to see them. I’ve got to go. I’m going to eat with some of the kids who came in to possibly play my child.”

 

“Those poor, poor children.”

 

“Goodbye, Emma,” he sighs, smiling at her. His smile should not be that bright through a screen It just shouldn’t. He’s turning her into a cheesy mess. Mac and cheese would probably be good for dinner. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, KJ. I’ll keep texting you updates.”

 

“Thanks, love. Talk to you later.”

 

“Ems,” Ruby yells, sliding into the closet and nearly tumbling into her, “guess who has a date tomorrow night.”

 

“You?” she smiles, sliding her phone into her back pocket and stepping back so that Ruby has some room to freak out.

 

“Yes me. Obviously me. Can we go shopping after this? I’ve looked at apartments with you all day, so this is literally the least you can do for me.”

 

“Well excuse me, but I’m pretty sure that the only reason you even have a date is because of me.”

 

“Eh, that’s debatable. We could have met another way. Like, while running or something.”

 

“How many people do you meet while running?”

 

“You would be surprised. I’ve got a fantastic ass. It brings all of the peeps to the yard.”

 

“You don’t have a yard.”

 

“It was a thinly veiled reference,” Ruby mumbles under her breath as her finger points to count a shelf that Emma thinks is for shoes. Or possibly folded pants and shirts. She’s not entirely sure. It could be for all of it. “When we go shopping, we have to buy you some shoes. Yours aren’t going to fill this shelf.”

 

“I’m not spending money I don’t have on shoes just so I can fill that shelf. That’s ridiculous. I’m supposed to be saving, especially because I’m still negotiating the raise at work. I think they’re going to agree to it, but I don’t know yet.”

 

“Ugh, so economical. Why deny shoes when you finally have a way to display them that’s not having them scattered on the floor?”

 

“Money. You can buy me shoes for my birthday, okay? I have this pair of boots that I have my eye on. Or you can buy me dishes or something. I probably need some of those.”

 

Ruby literally groans before she starts walking out of the closet, Emma close on her heels. “You are not allowed to turn boring like Marg and David just because you’re getting all homey.”

 

“If Mary Margaret and David heard you called them boring, they would be the first people to try to prove you wrong by going out, drinking one beer, and then asking if they could go home before nine.”

 

“In all fairness, sitting on your ass on the couch is a pretty great way to spend a night. This bathroom is fantastic,” Ruby suddenly states, the change in conversation almost causing whiplash. “The lighting is giving me clear skin.”

 

“I think that’s just because you have clear skin.”

 

“But I never knew that until right at this moment.”

 

She snorts, actually snorts, as she walks over to the window that’s at the opposite end of the bathroom. She’s not quite over the view of the ocean from up here, and she wonders how long she’ll have to live here to get used to it.

 

Oh.

 

Oh wow.

 

This is definitely _the_  place. She’s thinking about seriously living here. She can see herself here. She can see them here. She can see a future here.

 

This is going to be her home.

 

This is going to be _their_  home.

 

“So do you like this place, Ems?” Ruby asks as she checks her eyebrow for stray hairs under the vanity lights.

 

“Yeah,” she admits, looking back out over the ocean, “I love it.”

 

They look at the house in Back Bay after that, but honestly, Emma knows that the apartment is the one. It really is. She knows the Killian will love it too, and she tells Dorothy that when she sets up another viewing of it for Wednesday when Killian will be back. She really hopes that Ruby’s date goes well because if it doesn’t, that might be the slightest bit awkward. But she thinks it will, and it’s nice to see Ruby excited as they drive the short distance over to Copley so that they can find something for her to wear. It doesn’t take nearly as long as Emma expected, especially with how Ruby can be, and they’re out of there within an hour once Ruby finds a red dress that she most definitely won’t wear with a jacket even though it’ll be cold tomorrow night.

 

She really might be turning into Mary Margaret, but she doesn’t want Ruby to get frostbite. That probably won’t happen but still. She’ll try to at least get Ruby to wear a coat for a little bit of time.

 

It’s likely impossible.

 

After dropping Ruby off at her apartment, she drives home, pulling into her usual parking space and hurrying inside the building so that she can change into her pajamas and fix herself something to eat. She still kind of wants mac and cheese, but since she doesn’t have any, she makes herself a grilled cheese sandwich and some tomato soup (the classics are classics for a reason) to eat in front of the TV. It’s a Friday night sitting on her ass on the couch, and she’s glad for it. Her life has been so hectic lately, and it’s kind of nice for a bit of calm.

 

Her phone buzzes next to her, and she reaches over to pick it up at the same time that some cheese falls out of the sandwich and onto her chin. She really is so graceful all of the time.

 

_Liam: Do you want me to mail these pictures to you? Or are you going to pick them up when you’re here?_

_Emma: Can you mail them? I want to get frames for them and have them as soon as possible._

_Liam: I’ll put them in the mail on the way to work tomorrow._

_Emma: Thank you! You’re my second favorite Jones brother!_

_Liam: I’m both flattered and offended._

_Emma: As you should be. Give Elsa and Aiden all of my love!_

She’d called Liam last week and asked if he had any old family photos of he and Killian together or of the two of them with their mom. It’s a really small thing, but she wanted to give Killian a little piece of home in his new one. He’s really insistent that most everything at his house stay the same so that they always have that option for when he’s working there or for when they’re visiting his family and friends, so she imagines that he won’t be packing up many of the picture frames that are scattered throughout his house. The least she can do is ask Liam to go through the few albums of pictures she knows that he has to see if there are any pictures that she can get for Killian.

 

If they’re going to be living together, it’s going to be a home for the both of them. That’s how it works. She doesn’t have a lot of childhood photos, but Killian does – and they should most definitely be displayed. Liam sent her some pictures (of the pictures, which is obviously the simplest form of inception) of the ones he’s sending her, and there’s this one where Killian is apparently six and has his shirt off with a blue popsicle melted down his chest and his lips tinted the same blue. He’s got this toothy grin on his face, and his mom is sitting behind him in the grass of whatever park they’re in. She’s beautiful, and even through the blurry picture, Emma can see just how happy she is to be spending the day with her sons.

 

She looks a lot like Killian. They have the same eyes, and like always, her heart breaks for him to have lost someone who was so damn important to him. She wishes that she could have met his mom, but as she knows, it’s not possible. She can honor her memory though, even if it’s the smallest of things.

 

For the briefest of moments she thinks of her parents. She thinks of the stories she made up of them over the years. She used to want to meet them, to know if her thoughts about whether or not one of them had blonde hair like hers or if they had her eyes. She used to want to know where she got her height from or maybe if her dad had a sweet tooth like her. She wanted to know everything about them. Mostly, though, she wanted to know why they gave her up, why she wasn’t good enough for them.

 

She’s old enough now, been through enough, to know that it wasn’t about her. They were probably young and irresponsible and couldn’t provide for her. Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe they didn’t want kids. Maybe they weren’t young, maybe they weren’t irresponsible, and maybe life simply hadn’t worked out for them to keep her.

 

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

 

She doesn’t know. She’ll never know. All she knows is that they didn’t keep her. They didn’t keep her, and it’s not her fault. She still struggles with that sometimes, with the fact that she knows that it isn’t her fault. Because she does know, but that doesn’t keep there from being nights where she doesn’t still feel abandoned and lost. That’ll likely always stay with her, but she’s learned to live with it.

 

She thinks she’s learned to overcome it.

 

She’s got this life that she’s built with family that she’s found along the way, and she’s proud of herself and the light that she lets herself live with. Sometimes she uses humor as a defense mechanism, but most of the time, she likes to laugh. She likes to have that light in her life that she missed for so long.

 

She likes to have a metaphorical blue popsicle melting on her because she was having too much of a good time to eat it all before it melted.

 

She loves that on the nights where the light fades away, the darkness encompassing her more than usual, she has someone right beside her who understands her in a way that no one else does.

 

And she loves that she gets to do the same for him, letting him tell stories of love and loss no matter how late into the night it takes.

 

It doesn’t matter. She’s got the time.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: I have finished writing the entire story! 🎉
> 
> Bad news: I'm going to be out of town next week, so no update then. 😭
> 
> Possible good news: I might give you guys another one before I leave just because you're so great! 😃

“Happy birthday,” Killian hums against her neck, kissing the sensitive skin and rubbing his chin into her. She claims that it doesn’t tickle her, but it always does. He hopes it’ll work to wake her up since nothing else will today. “Your alarm has been going off for fifteen minutes.”

 

“Hmm,” she mumbles, twisting to the side and burying her face in his bare shoulder, ignoring the sound of her alarm like she has been while he’s listened to it wondering just how long she’s going to sleep through it. He swears sometimes it’s like she’s dead to the world. Other times she’s woken up by a whisper of a touch. There’s no in between for her. “That doesn’t sound real.”

 

“It is, darling,” he promises, nudging her stomach with his knee until she flips back onto her pillow, opening one eye while she stares up at him. He knows that he’s got a smirk on his face, that she probably finds him to be obnoxious, but he’s been awake for longer than her. He’s not nearly as annoyed by life as she is. Then again, the only work he has to do today is finish up packing Emma’s things to take to the new place this weekend. He can fall back asleep as soon as she leaves for work and not have to get dressed until they go out for her birthday tonight.

 

“Can you go to work for me? I would love you for the rest of my life.”

 

“While that’s a promising offer, I’m just not sure that it’s worth it.”

 

“Hey,” she protests, opening up her other eye as her lips part, her teeth showing the slightest bit before she presses them together again.

 

“Just speaking the truth.” He leans over in the bed and quickly slants his lips over hers, waiting for her to open up to him until he can make it a little deeper, leisurely exploring her mouth and waking her up as he gets lost in the kiss and the way that Emma’s nose is buried in his cheek, her hand softly gripping in his hair. God, he loves when she messes with his hair. “You need to get up and get ready.”

 

“I can stay in bed for thirty more minutes if I don’t shower.”

 

“Yeah, but you won’t want to shower after work and before we go to dinner, so you should shower now to get it over with.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him, but when he kisses the tip of her nose, he can see her smile despite the still dimmed lighting in the room. “I don’t like that you’re reasonable.”

  
  
“You do. I promise. Now go get ready, Swan.”

 

She mumbles and groans, but eventually she gets out of bed and turns the damn alarm off before she heads into her bathroom to shower. He’s a bit of an arse, so he doesn’t bother getting out of bed even though he should likely fix her breakfast since it’s her birthday and she hasn’t been too happy about turning twenty-nine. Knowing her, though, she won’t want to eat anything but a yogurt with how late she’s running, so he’ll make her food some other day. It’s the least he can do if he’s going to be up anyways.

 

He’s only been staying with Emma for a week and a half, and they’re still in her old apartment until the furniture they’ve bought gets moved to their place. It’s got a new mattress and bedframe like they both wanted and a couch, but everything else is still shipping or they haven’t found what they wanted yet. It was a pretty quick turnaround on buying the apartment in Seaport, so they weren’t exactly expecting to be able move in so quickly. He was expecting to have at least a few more weeks, but after they closed on the place, he called Robin and Will to help him pack up his clothes and a few personal items from home. It’s a bit of a disconnect walking into a place he’s lived for years and seeing it furnished only to turn a corner and realize that the books on his shelves are missing along with some of the photo frames he had on the side table in his study. He was going to leave them, but he wanted some personal mementos.

 

His clothes were easy enough to pack, especially since he only packed his winter things for the next few months, but that odd feeling of emptiness washed over him when he noticed that only his shorts and some swim trunks remained. That emptiness went away when he was hanging his things and a few of Emma’s in their closet, one that they get to share, and those awful Christmas sweaters they both own were hanging side by side, green tassel sticking out against all of the black and navy clothes that he owns. He’d never get rid of them, though. They mean too much to the both of them, so they’ll stay hanging in the closet.

 

God, it’s both weird and wonderful that they’re getting to share everything in a home together.

 

The wonder is most definitely going to fade once they get into an argument over the dishes or making the bed every day, but he doesn’t care in the slightest.

 

Maybe he’ll go buy those barstools Emma saw when they went shopping on Sunday. She’d really liked those, but they weren’t sure if the stools were the right size. He checked, and they are. That’d likely be a nice surprise, especially if he gave them to her today.

 

Barstools for his girlfriend’s birthday present. It’s what every woman wants.

 

Or a necklace with a pearl pendant hanging at the end of the chain because gifts are difficult and Emma never wants anything. He’d seen her look at the necklace, though, and she’d run her fingers over her collarbone for awhile after she saw it. It’s simple and beautiful, and he thinks Emma will like wearing it most days just so that she has something to fidget with. She’s always doing that with her earrings or bracelet, so a necklace should be nice, right?

 

A necklace and some barstools. And this hot chocolate basket that he’s been putting together, her swan mug hidden away in it. For someone who claims that it’s her favorite mug, she sure as hell doesn’t notice when it’s missing for weeks on end.

 

Yeah, those should be fine things to give her before tonight.

 

He donated some money to her work and to a few of her favorite charities, but he’s not going to tell her about them. He thought about it, but it doesn’t quite seem right. They’re in her honor and will help out a lot of people who need the help, and that’s all that matters to him.

 

He hears the water shut off in the bathroom, and he takes that as his cue to get finally get out of bed, throwing the covers off of his legs and slowly moving off of the old mattress so he can get some sweatpants out the suitcase he’s living out of, pulling them on and up over his hips so he won’t freeze while moving out to the kitchen. He may not make her breakfast, but he can at least make her some coffee so she won’t be cranky at work.

 

Coffee would also be really nice for him. Emma’s alarm went off for far too long, and he can feel the slightest pounding against his temple.

 

“Do you think it would be too obvious if I called in sick to work?” Emma ponders as she walks into the room a few minutes later, a towel still wrapped around her head but her lashes coated in mascara and face powdered so that her freckles have faded. “I mean, they know it’s my birthday, but people get sick on their birthdays. It’s just a day.”

 

He takes a sip of his coffee, the liquid still a little too hot from his lack of creamer, and shrugs his shoulders while Emma grabs a mug out of the cabinet and starts making her cup.

 

“You could, but if you don’t go to work, your other option is to stay here with me and pack up your belongings.”

 

“I mean, packing is very sexy. I could stay and we could forget about packing for you to give me all of your love and attention since it is my birthday after all.”

 

“For someone who has been dreading this day, which you literally just said is only a day on the calendar, you’re really milking it.”

 

“I am indeed,” she smiles, holding up the carton of milk she just got out of the fridge. Emma Swan, a woman who doesn’t like to let bad jokes pass by her. “I just don’t want to go to work. I’m working with Kathryn all day and blegh.”

 

“Did you just say the word blegh instead of making the sound?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Weird.”

  
  
“Debatable.”

 

“I’m sorry you have to work with Kathryn, but hopefully she won’t be that bad today. And I feel like you’re going to have a good day today, signing your new contract and all that, you badass of a woman.” He takes a step toward her and leans down to brush a kiss across her temple, knowing the toothpaste on her tongue won’t mix well with the coffee. He loves her and is proud of her for negotiating a raise that she deserves for her time there and for all the good work she’s done this year, but her really is not a fan of toothpaste mixed with coffee. “And when all is said and done today, I promise I’ll give you all of my love and attention.”

 

“That’s all I ask.”

 

When Emma leaves for work, he takes a quick shower and gets dressed to go to Gold and Williams to pick up some of the furniture they saw the other day. He’ll pack later. He’d honestly just feel better if he went ahead and got the furniture now, mixing in with the morning crowd on the train as he makes his way to the south end. He’s still got some work to go on navigating Boston, but he’s figuring things out. It’d help if he had a car here, but he doesn’t want to buy another one when he has a perfectly good car back in California. Then again, it’s either leave it there or take a road trip across the country every time he travels.

 

That would be ridiculous. The miles and time alone.

 

Maybe he’ll get Emma to take a road trip with him when she has off for Thanksgiving since they’re spending it with his family so that they can spend Christmas with Emma’s. Or maybe he’ll simply become a master of taking the train.

 

Or he could ship his car across the country. That’s a thing.

 

It takes a few minutes in the store for him to find the barstools, telling the man who’s helping him, Eric, that he wants four of them before he wanders throughout the rest of the store, looking at the chairs for the living room they’d both liked the other day. It’s odd shopping without Emma, but then again, she did most of their apartment viewing by herself so a chair seems like a much smaller thing. They can always return it if it doesn’t fit, but he likes the blue velvet and gold accented frames that surround them to go with the light gray of their couch. By the time he’s left the store he has put in orders for the barstools, arm chairs, lamps for their bedside tables, and a loveseat to sit at the foot of their bed all to be shipped to their apartment. He knows that Emma liked the loveseat because he distinctly remembers her sitting down on it and tracing her finger over the teal material and talking about how good it would look with the blue and green accents on the pillows on their bed.

 

He’s never thought this much about interior decorating, but Emma is having such a blast starting with a clean slate that he’s enjoying it. He likes watching everything come together too.

 

The rest of his morning is spent packing up Emma’s apartment, sectioning off her clothes and tying them up in bags so they’ll be easier to unpack. All of her dishes but a few they’ll need over the next few days go into boxes, wrapped in bubble wrap, and he makes note of the appliances she’s missing. He’ll ship some of his things from home here. He won’t need a fully stocked kitchen some place he’s not living full time, and there’s no need to buy more plates when he and Emma eat out off of paper plates most of the time anyways.

 

Maybe they need a few more plates for when they have guests. He’s thinking about flying out Liam, Elsa, and Aiden for Christmas and having them stay over so that they can meet everyone. Of course, he’ll have to fly in Anna and Kris as well. He could offer to fly in Anna and Elsa’s parents, but they’re apparently visiting after the holiday.

 

It’s something to think about, though.

 

When he tackles her shelves, that’s an animal in and off itself. She’s got everything marked for keep or donate since nothing in her apartment can stay here, and honestly, he’s a little confused by some of the markings. There are several rocks that don’t look like anything, but Emma has them marked to keep so he packs them away. He assumes Leo has given them to her, but he’s honestly got no idea.

 

The music on his phone stops playing as it rings, and he reaches to the side and slides his finger across the screen, tapping the speaker so he doesn’t have to pick it up.

 

“Hey, Will.”

 

“Why the bloody hell do you have me watering these plants if you don’t even live here anymore? Can’t I just let them die?”

 

“Nice to hear from you too,” he scoffs, wrapping up a picture frame. “And yes, you have to water them until I get them moved to Liam’s or Rob’s. Or yours. I think you’re rather fond of the plants, mate.”

 

“I don’t like your bloody plants.”

 

“It’s okay to like the plants. They’d make your apartment look less like a bachelor lives there.”

 

“A bachelor does live there.”

 

“Seriously, take the plants with you.”

 

“If I take the plants with me, then you won’t pay me to water them.”

 

“Technically I also pay you to dust, but you never do that.”

 

“I’m not your maid. I’m your friend.”

 

“Who likes the money I pay you out of the goodness of my heart for helping me with my house.”

 

“You’re the most generous man in all of Hollywood,” Will chuckles as the distinctive sound of the ceiling fan in Killian’s study spins. It’s got this thing where it clicks if it spins too quickly. He needs to fix that. “What are you doing today? You got plans? Rob, Rol, and I are going to watch the Kings play later. You want to join us from afar?”

 

“What time?”

 

“Six our time.”

 

He clicks his tongue as he wraps another frame that’s filled with a picture of Emma holding both Leo and Brody the day after Brody was born. God, that had been such an awful day for him, but Emma looks so besotted with those boys that it doesn’t even matter. It worked out for them anyways. They worked it out.

 

“I can’t,” he admits, feeling the smallest tinge of guilt, but this is how things are going to be sometimes. Not all of the time, but still. He’ll have to take the three of them to a match sometime soon. Maybe he’ll buy them passes for Christmas. “It’s Emma’s birthday, so we’re going out. I’ll try another time though, okay?”

 

“Aye, that’s fine. It’s not like it’s going to be a good one anyways. Tell your lady I said happy birthday.”

 

“I will. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Are you not working at the bar tonight?”

 

“No, I’ve got today off. Oi, man, I’ve got to tell you about this guy who came in last night.”

 

He and Will keep talking until Killian’s finished packing up the bookshelves, everything sorted into different boxes and bags and stacked up next to the door as Will regales him with stories of the bar and Roland’s attempt at ice skating for the first time last week. Robin’s also apparently been dating one of the moms of one of Roland’s classmates. He leaves for a little bit of time and suddenly everyone is getting their lives together. He absolutely cannot wait to annoy Rob about this the next time they talk. The man would rather die than talk about his dating life, so he kind of wonders how exactly Will knew about Robin’s new woman. He never explained. Eventually Will has to go, and Killian’s left spending the rest of the day doing as much packing as he can, only stopping to eat a late lunch and drink another cup of coffee.

 

“How is it so cold outside?” Emma asks as she pulls off her jacket and takes her beanie off, shaking her hair out and closing the front door behind her. “Seriously, it’s freezing out there. Have you been outside today? Probably not. You’ve probably been packing this entire time. Sorry I couldn’t call at lunch. I missed it to read over my contract one more time. Your girl has officially got herself a pay raise.”

 

“Congrats, love,” he laughs, taping up a box and then putting his tape down so that he can walk over to the kitchen where Emma’s puttering around in the cabinets. They’re mostly empty now, but she’s probably trying to find a glass. “Do you feel less stressed?”

 

“Exponentially.”

 

“Good.” He presses a kiss to her cheek before reaching above her and getting a glass out of the cabinet to hand to her. “I actually went and got some furniture for us this morning, some of the stuff we looked at on Sunday, and it’s being delivered to the apartment. And then I was packing up some things we hadn’t gotten yet. I was about to go work in your hallway closet.”

 

“I can do that,” she blurts, her cheeks flushing, and he quirks his brow as the gears start turning in his mind over why she wouldn’t want him messing with the closet.

 

“You’re hiding something.”

 

“I am not.”

 

“You’re a horrible liar, remember?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“So what do you have hidden in the closet? I’ve been in there before, so I know that it’s not dead bodies or anything.”

 

“Gross.”

 

He shrugs. “I’m just saying. I’m also going to go look.”

 

He sidesteps out of Emma’s way, the curiosity too much, but he also knows that if Emma really doesn’t want him to look, she’ll tell him to stop. And he will. Whatever she’s hiding isn’t bad or untrustworthy. He simply doesn’t know what it is.

 

“Killian,” she chuckles, grabbing onto the back of his shirt and tugging him back so that he turns around and backs himself up against the wall to look down at Emma. Her eyes have widened, and her lips are somewhere between a smile and a quiver. He simply can’t tell. “Please don’t look in the closet.”

 

“I won’t if you really don’t want me to. I just wonder how you didn’t think of me looking in there while you were gone today.”

 

“I forgot.”

 

“You forgot about your deep, dark secret?”

 

“It’s not a deep, dark secret. It’s a surprise for you.”

 

“For little old me on your birthday?”

 

“Oh my gosh,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes and leaning forward to pat his chest. “You’re so cocky, but yes, for you. It was – I was – do you just want it now?”

 

He does, but he can be patient.

 

“You can save it. Today is about you anyways.”

 

Emma groans, actually groans, and it’s a bit of a mixture between frustration and pleasure. He’s got no clue what’s going on right now. Absolutely none.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” she starts, stepping to the side and sliding open the closet door, the old folds of it crunching the slightest bit. “Like, it’s really not a big deal. I was going to put them up at the new apartment and let you, you know, just notice when you noticed.” She bends down and picks up a small box, and when she hands it to him, he can see Liam’s address on the return label. What the hell? “Just open it or whatever.”

 

“Okay,” he mumbles, looking up at her and noticing the way she’s fidgeting, her feet never staying in place. “Swan, unless there’s something super freaky in here that my brother has sent you, and I’m not sure where the limitations lie, I promise that there’s no need to be nervous.”

 

It takes a bit of work to open the package. Liam really doubles down on masking tape and he’s working with just his nails, but eventually he gets into it, the cardboard folds moving open and revealing a few envelopes that are full of pictures…of him. They’re of him. There’s one of him as a child with his mum, a blue popsicle melted all over him. There’s another of he and Liam at his graduation, another of them when they’d just moved into the apartment in California, and several others that he’s seen before but not in a long time. These are from the books that Liam keeps, that he’s made sure to save even when they were in the system and could barely have belongings. These are his childhood, the fond memories of his childhood, and despite how much he’s always loved them, for a long time it was difficult for him to look at some of them, especially the ones with his mother.

 

“Did you,” he starts, putting the pictures back in the box, “did you ask Liam for family photos so you could put them up in the apartment to surprise me?”

 

“Yeah. I thought – I thought it would be a nice thing for you to have some of your home here. And, like, I figured it was a better thing than a picture of Queen Elizabeth or, like, a palm tree that would just die in this climate. I know it’s not a big thing but I – ”

 

“Emma,” he laughs, dropping the box to the ground and stepping forward to wrap his arm around her waist, holding onto her tightly as he pushes her up to the wall and quickly slants his lips over hers, feeling the softness of her mouth as she gasps into his own. He knows that he’s surprised her, that she didn’t expect such a fierce moment over what she very obviously thinks is a big deal but won’t admit, but the truth of the matter is that it is a big deal. They’re flush against each other and into the wall, and when his tongue moves against hers, she cants her hips up to his as he matches her rocks, the two of them moving together.

 

He knows that they’re both sentimental, that they both hold onto things from their childhood, that they hold onto the happy moments, but he also knows that they’re often only sentimental about it late at night when maybe exhaustion has gotten to them. Sometimes it’s when they’re walking on the beach by his house, Emma wrapped up in a sweater that reaches her thighs as she tells him about the first time she made a friend who she got to stay around for more than a few months before she was moved to another house in the state. It’s a sometimes thing, not an always, but it means the absolute world to him that Emma would do this.

 

She hasn’t moved the mountains, but he would never ask or expect her to.

 

He’d go to the end of the world for her, and he knows that she’d do the same.

 

Emma’s hands move over his shoulders, and it’s what snaps him into attention before he moves his lips from hers and trails them along her jaw, burying his face in her neck and breathing her in as his heart pounds against his ribcage.

 

“So you like them?”

 

He nods into her neck before he pulls back, looking into the gleam of her eyes before he leans forward and kisses her noise, his breath still catching up to him as he rests his forehead against hers. “I love them. Why were you so nervous?”

 

“I don’t know.” Her voice is a bit high, the smallest bit broken, and he groans a bit knowing that it’s all because of him, that their hips are still pushed together with Emma pinned to the wall. “I wanted to do something big for you to make Boston your home a bit more easily, but I couldn’t think of anything. And I don’t know. I figured you wouldn’t pack up all of the pictures you have at home so that you would still have them when you’re there. It was the least I could do, and I wasn’t going to make a big deal about them, but then you were going into the closet and yeah.”

 

“I did pack some of them,” he chuckles, leaning back and flashing her a grin so that she’ll stop biting her lip. He’s just now noticing that his hand has traveled up her shirt, and he wonders when he started tracing her spine. “Not all of them but a few, but I don’t – I hadn’t gone into those pictures for years. It’s so hard to see Mum’s face sometimes, but this is good. I appreciate it. Really. I don’t need you to do big gestures. I don’t – Emma I’m happy to be here. I can’t say it enough. I’m happy to be here and to be with you.”

 

“Yeah,” she nods, moving her hands back up his arms to his shoulders before her hands cup his face, soft pads caressing him as he leans his cheek into her so that he can kiss her wrist, “I’m happy too. We should probably stop making out in my hallway and get ready for dinner.” She pats his face as her lips curl into a smile that makes her eyes crinkle. “You need time to fix up that face.”

 

“My face looks fine.”

 

“Obviously you already packed up all of the mirrors in this place.”

 

It doesn’t take long for the two of them to get ready even though he needs to take a shower, and after he gives Emma her gifts, clasping the ends of her necklace together over the back of her neck, they make their way outside so they can drive to dinner. Emma has work in the morning, so neither of them are really planning on drinking too much or staying out late.

 

“So this place is really called the Barking Crab?” he asks as they walk from the parking deck to the restaurant, moving through the surprisingly crowded streets even with the chill in the air. Emma had put on a short black dress earlier, had checked the weather, and then quickly changed into black jeans and a sweater so that she wouldn’t freeze. As much as he appreciated the dress, he appreciates Emma not dying of hypothermia more.

 

“Yep. It’s good and fun, right on the water obviously. You’ll like it because as much as I know that you like the occasional stuffy restaurant, how can you pass up eating greasy food out of baskets?”

 

“You can’t,” he scoffs, reaching down to wrap his hand over her palm while they walk. “And it’s seafood, so how can it get better?”

 

“If it were a cheeseburger.”

 

“I’m sure they have those here, but considering you picked the place, Swan, I don’t think you can complain.”

 

“We already talked about this. It’s my birthday. I can do whatever I want.”

 

“That’s not how that works.”

 

“It definitely is.”

 

“So if you committed murder, you think you could get away with it by saying it happened on your birthday?”

 

“You took that from zero to one hundred real quick.”

 

“I was making a point.”

 

“One I’m choosing to ignore.” Her steps hurry then, heels clicking against the pavement, and he has to quicken his step to keep up. “I see Mary Margaret at a table.”

 

“She got one outside? It’s freezing.”

 

“They have heaters.”

 

“Still.”

 

“You’ll be fine,” Emma laughs, squeezing his hand tightly before releasing him and running up to meet her friends, wrapping Mary Margaret in a tight embrace, the two of them rocking from side to side.

 

She’s already moved onto David by the time that he gets there, so he bends down and presses a kiss against Mary Margaret’s cheek, asking her how she is and about the kids before he’s hugging David and doing the same to him. He’s just about to settle down when Ruby and Dorothy show up, so it’s another mess of hugs and too much conversation all happening at once. He’s only met Dorothy in a professional capacity, but he feels as if he knows her a bit from Emma and Ruby talking about her. She’s great, if not a bit shy, but that’s honestly not an option with Emma and her friends.

 

Okay, so it’s not an option with Ruby, but he doubts Dorothy would be here if she didn’t fancy Ruby.

 

Eventually the all sit down around the table Mary Margaret got for them, Emma sliding into the chair next to him and opening up the menu to read through all of the cocktails out loud.

 

“You’d like the Dark and Stormy, babe,” she tells him, pointing to the rum on the menu, “or maybe the Tea Party since, you know, you’re a Brit in Boston.”

 

“So damn funny,” he scoffs, tapping his fingers against her thigh from where his hand has been resting.

 

“I’ve never even thought about that before,” David laughs, closing his menu. “You may also like the Bloody Mary.”

 

“You’re all regular comedians.”

 

“Aw, he’s kind of crabby,” Ruby sighs, her lips curling up into a smile. “So obviously the Crabby Margarita will also work for you.”

 

“I believe a margarita would be better for Mary _Margaret_.”

 

“Oh I’m not drinking tonight, but I appreciate the pun,” she sighs sweetly, obviously not going to get in on teasing him about his heritage. “Besides, tonight is about Emma and being one year away from thirty, flirty, and thriving. We should totally be making fun of her.”

 

“What kind of alcohol puns can you make about Emma, though?” Dorothy asks.

 

“Not really any,” Ruby admits, shrugging her shoulders before taking a sip of her water. “Though, usually when we’re making fun of Emma, we talk about the great tequila incident of 2012.”

 

“No.”

 

“Wait,” he laughs, twisting his head to look at Emma and the absolute look of horror that is covering every inch of her skin, “what is this now? I’ve never heard of it, and I really feel like I should know about something that’s called the great tequila incident of 2012.”

 

“Babe, you really don’t want to know.”

 

“I really do,” he promises, excitement running through him as he looks between David, Mary Margaret, and Ruby to see which of them is going to break and tell this story.

 

“So Emma and I were living in this awful apartment,” Mary Margaret begins, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear only for it to fall back from not being long enough, “and we have absolutely no money. I’m a teacher fresh out of getting my Masters and Emma’s just gotten hired as an assistant PR director after that shitty receptionist job she’d had, so we, literally, never go out to do anything because we don’t have money. Ever.”

 

“Until your homegirl got hired at the same place as Emma,” Ruby adds, excitedly moving her shoulders up and down while Emma’s leg taps underneath his hand.

 

“Yeah, so we went out to celebrate Ruby getting a new job because she’d spent so damn long in school, and your girlfriend who is about ready to bolt right now, has a few too many drinks. She’s always been a bit of a lightweight.”

 

“That’s rich coming from you, honey.”

 

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes at her husband before looking back at him. “That’s not the point. You’re just mad because you weren’t there that night. Anyways, we’re at a bar and Emma has had too much tequila, so when Ruby suggests that it’s time to go home, Emma just refuses. I mean, absolutely refuses because that awful song Call Me Maybe is on, and she insisted that she had to go around quoting it to every man in the bar before she gave them her number.”

 

“Please tell me you didn’t, Swan.”

 

“I did,” she groans, leaning into his shoulder and burying her face in his jacket. “I had to change my number because I kept getting calls asking to talk to the hot blonde that gave away her number and then proceeded to ask every single person if they’d be willing to go on a Segway tour with them by saying ‘we could see Boston, and then I could show you my place.’”

 

The laughter starts in his stomach, but it makes its way up his entire body, his core and his shoulders shaking as it bubbles up and out of his mouth, nothing containing it as Emma keeps her face buried in his shoulder despite the fact that he must be moving her. It’s not the most embarrassing thing in the world. Not really, but he’s imagining Emma singing the song and propositioning all of those people while Ruby and Mary Margaret were likely curled up in balls laughing at her.

 

“Why a Segway tour, Swan?” he laughs, squeezing her thigh. “What about that would lead you to taking these guys back to your place?”

 

“I don’t know. I was drunk. I obviously wasn’t thinking.”

 

“So now Emma isn’t supposed to drink tequila, and if she does, she either has to sing the entirety of Call Me Maybe or pay for all of us to go on a Segway tour of Boston.”

 

“Emma, love,” he soothes, moving his hand from her thigh and wrapping it around her shoulder so that he can rub it up and down her arm as she obviously replays the night in her mind, “I’m going to need you to stop drinking too much in front of Ruby and Mary Margaret because it seems to get you into all kinds of predicaments.”

 

“But that’s how she met you,” Ruby points out, and he smiles at the thought. “I’m still waiting for my boat, by the way. I want it to be called The Love Boat. I’ve said it before, but I obviously need to say it again. I think red will be a good color for it, not tacky at all.”

 

“You’re not getting a boat,” Emma groans, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. “Also, are we ever going to order? Because it’s my birthday, and I want to eat.”

 

They do eventually order, and soon the table is full of ridiculous cocktails and water glasses as well as crab, lobster rolls, shrimp, and more seafood than six people will need. But they manage to eat most of it between laughing and sharing more embarrassing stories about Emma. He’s got several up his sleeve, but he’d rather listen to the tales of when all of them were in university together (apparently David came along a bit later, but he knows the stories well enough) and just starting out. Emma is so comfortable with her friends, comfortable with letting them tease her and share things from a time when she likely wasn’t sure of trusting people too much, and he’s not sure if he’s ever been more thankful for three of the people sitting across from him.

 

They were the ones who Emma opened her heart up to and who didn’t let her down for the first time in her life, and he’s exponentially glad that she has them.

 

“I’m going to run to the restroom,” Emma mutters after she takes another sip of her water before placing it on the table.

 

“I’ll join you,” Mary Margaret adds only for Ruby and Dorothy to say the same thing. “And you two cannot make a joke about women traveling in packs to the bathroom when the two of you do stuff like that all of the time.”

 

“Wasn’t going to, honey,” David sighs, smiling up at his wife. Mary Margaret simply smiles back before she’s walking away, trailing after everyone else as they disappear into the restaurant and out of sight. “So do you feel like you’ve officially been initiated into a Boston man? You’re eating seafood by the harbor when it’s freezing outside. All you need is to be wearing a Sox cap.”

 

“Well, I did leave my hat and my jersey at home. I knew I was forgetting something when we left the apartment. But yeah,” he shrugs, fingering at the condensation on his glass, “it feels good to be here. It’s definitely not California, but I’m happy. I can’t wait to get into the new place, though. I’m tripping over boxes every two seconds.”

 

“You never know how much stuff you have until you move, and Emma’s a packrat so that’s got to be awful.”

 

“It’s not that bad,” he admits, twisting his head and looking out at the water past all of the people who are crowding the streets. “We’ve gone through everything and either donated it, trashed it, or packed it. I don’t think either of us really expected to be able to move so quickly.”

 

“But when has anything in your relationship ever gone as normal?”

 

He clicks his tongue, not really sure how to answer that. “Eh, depends on what you’re saying is normal. I think we do what works for us. We haven’t been together for years or anything, but we’ve been together for awhile. And besides two or three days, once we were in, we were all in.”

 

David’s eyes slant for a moment, the blue turning into slits, and his lips flatten out into a straight line while he looks at Killian. He briefly sees David tilt his head to the side, something almost unnoticeable, but then he’s widening his eyes again as his features relax. He was just being studied, and he’s honestly not sure why.

 

“You’re going to propose.”

 

If he were holding his drink instead of thumbing at the water on it while it rests on the table, he’d drop it. He’d drop it and then likely freeze for the chill that’s blowing over the restaurant, the temperatures continuing to fall the longer they stay out here. He can feel the heat as it moves across his face, red flames tickling his skin, and he knows that it’s not from the nip of the air or the warmth of the heater that’s just behind their table.

 

“Possibly,” he concedes, his eyes glancing over to where Emma had disappeared into the restaurant. As much as he’d like to talk about his thoughts and his plans and the rings that he’s been looking at when he can, he knows that they don’t have a lot of time. “How the hell do you know that?”

 

“You’re not as suave and mysterious as you think.” He raises a brow, and waits for David to continue. “You love her. You love her in the way that I love Mary Margaret, and while you two are different, it’s still the same.”

 

“Aye,” he smiles, eyes only straying from David to look to make sure no one is returning to the table, “I do. I love her, and I want to marry her. I know that now isn’t the time, that things are crazy with the move, but I’ve been thinking about it.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, Killian, that’s incredible,” he laughs, his own face covered in lines while he reaches down to break off a piece of bread. “Emma is like a younger sister to me, and I love her. I just want her to be happy. And you’ve grown on me too, so I guess I want that for you.”

 

He winks, knowing that he’s got a smirk curling up on his lips. “I tend to have that effect on people.”

 

Emma comes back to the table first, her hair now pulled up in a ponytail, and sits back down in her chair, her hand landing on his knee and squeezing while Mary Margaret follows closely behind her.

 

“Where are Ruby and Dorothy?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Emma mumbles.

 

“They’re asking the chef if she’d be willing to make Emma a small birthday cake,” Mary Margaret explains as she rolls her eyes a bit at Emma. “Emma’s embarrassed because she doesn’t want the entire restaurant looking at her as they sing.”

 

“I’m not embarrassed. I would have been fine if Killian and I had just stopped for milkshakes on the way home.”

 

“Nonsense, Swan, you’ve got to have your birthday cake.”

 

Ruby and Dorothy come back to the table with the promise that Emma is going to have a birthday cake brought out to her in a few minutes. Sure enough their waitress comes to the table with a serving dish full of cake, Emma’s name written in sauce on the white of the plate, and everyone sings to her while he watches her attempt not to blush. It doesn’t work, but she tries.

 

And later that night after Emma has fallen asleep claiming too much cake and seafood, he scrolls through his phone at the pictures from tonight. There’s several of he and Emma, even more of shots he had to take for she and her friends, but as he does, he never uploads a photo of her face online, not since the night they met at the charity gala. Who he’s dating isn’t a secret, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to control what he puts out there on the rare occasions that he does post things online so that Robin doesn’t get onto him about not being social media savvy enough.

 

So it’s that thought that has him posting a photo of Emma as everyone sings to her. Her hands are covering her face, the loose strands of her ponytail doing the rest of the work, but he can still see the slightest bit of her smile under the glow of the candle light and the bulb lights the restaurant had up.

 

**KillianJonesOfficial** : Happy birthday, my love.

 

He wants to say more, but he thinks he’d rather keep those thoughts to he and Emma. She’s the only one who really needs to hear them.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

“So why are we doing this at your house again?” she questions as Killian puts their luggage in the back of their cab.

 

“Because I have a longer dining room table. There’s more space for food and people, even though we usually set out the food and then eat in the living room or out on the deck if the weather is nice.”

 

“Ah, yes, Thanksgiving on the beach where I can still wear a dress with no thermal leggings. This is living the life.”

 

Killian rolls his eyes at her. She can’t see him, but she knows that he does it. She slides into the backseat and buckles her seatbelt up while their driver messes with the knobs on the radio. It’s kind of weird not being in a car by herself or being in Killian’s car when getting to his house from the airport, and she really feels that when the driver eyes Killian as he settles into the car as well. Overall, she’s aware that people know who he is, that he’s a public figure. Hell, it’s kind of how they met, but it’s not something she thinks about anymore until they’re getting dinner and people either stare or stop him. Honestly, since they’ve been together, she hasn’t even watched anything that he’s in except for Highland Waters, and that was mostly because she wanted to know what happened after the premiere.

 

Okay, she _needed_ to know what happened. It was a fantastic show.

 

He’s simply Killian to her. What he does for a living only matters to her because she’s proud of him and happy that he does what he loves.

 

But that doesn’t keep their driver from driving a little recklessly on occasion from continuously looking back at him. It’s weird, and she tries to ignore it as much as she can as she and Killian talk about tomorrow and this weekend. It takes an hour to get home, and she doesn’t really want to think about how much that costs, but then they’re dragging their bags inside and turning on all of the fans so that it can get a little air circulation. This place is mostly the same, but she can see a few subtle differences. All of his plants are gone, and she knows that it’s because Will coming over to water them every other day wasn’t a great system in the large scheme of things. Other than that, it’s really only the little things. A few picture frames are missing, a couple of books on the shelves that she knows are now on a shelf in their place despite the fact that they still have boxes absolutely everywhere after being there for a month.

 

She’s pretty much living out of boxes.

 

That’s fine with her, but she’s honestly a bit surprised that Killian is able to live like that with how organized he is. She’s been busy at work because of the charity gala in two weeks, and Killian had to fly back out here for some more screen tests for his movie. They’re having trouble finding his wife for it, even if she is deceased for most of the movie, so he’s having to go to the studio every time they think they have someone who he’ll have good chemistry with.

 

She never thought she’d say this, but she’d feel a hell of a lot better if the casting directors could find a woman Killian has chemistry with.

 

They’re busy and all over the place, and most of the time when either of them gets home, they collapse on the couch out of sheer exhaustion and the slightest bit of laziness. Mostly exhaustion, though. When Killian’s home, he joins her after work to run, and they’re far too competitive when, really, they only need to be jogging or something to keep themselves in shape. At least he doesn’t join her at the gym. He goes there on his own. That may kill her. Or both of them.

 

(She could probably kick his ass in a lot of things there.)

 

So they’re busy and not always in the same city, but she never thought that it was going to be that way. She knows that Killian is going to be gone sometimes, but she absolutely cannot get over the fact that they’re not having to make these crazy schedules just to see each other’s faces. They come home to the same place, and she’s infinitely glad for that.

 

Even when she wants to watch TV before she goes to bed and Killian wants the only sound to be the humming of the ceiling fan.

 

Or when he wakes up ungodly early even though she’s the one who has to go into work.

 

Living with him full time has definitely taken some adjustments, and she knows that it’ll take a few more, but she kind of thinks that they’re rocking it. They’re probably closer than they’ve ever been, and not just in physical distance, and only this tiny, miniscule part of her is freaking out over living with someone again.

 

And that tiny, miniscule part is mostly the part of her that likes to sprawl out in bed by herself sometimes or not wash her hair for three days.

 

Dry shampoo is a miracle worker.

 

“We have to dust,” Killian mumbles as they walk into the kitchen and flip the switch for the lights to come on. “And light a few candles. I think I’ve got some in the closet. It’s not that bad since I was just here, but I probably need to hire someone who’s more professional than Will to keep everything from getting too stale in here.”

 

“It’s not bad at all, babe,” she sighs as she takes the few steps to the pantry and walks inside so that she can find the candles, pulling out a few that smell like cinnamon. “You’re just more specific than most people, but we’ll get it all fixed for tomorrow.” She grabs a lighter out of the cabinet, and lights one candle on the island. “When is the food you ordered going to get here? Because it will take far less time to dust and clean up down here than it will to cook.”

 

 

“I scheduled it for two, so it about an hour and a half. Do you want to work in the dining room while I do the living room?”

 

“Sounds like a plan, my man.”

 

“Well that’s a new one,” he laughs, his lips ticking up into a smile while his brows move across his forehead, his annoyance over needing to clean fading a little bit.

 

She shrugs and presses her lips together. “It rhymes just the same, though I think I might stick with Stan even though that’s not your name.”

 

“And yet I respond to it.”

 

“Because I’ve trained you well.”

 

She doesn’t wait for his response before walking out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the closet where he keeps all of his cleaning stuff. It took her awhile to figure out everything in this house, but now she’s got it down pretty well. Sometimes Killian’s organizational systems are a little confusing, but since they’re now the same at their apartment, she knows it a little better.

 

It doesn’t take long to quickly clean everything up, dusting the shelves that are full of trinkets and nice plates, as well as going ahead and setting the table. Killian’s got flowers arriving too, so she gets a few vases out. They should probably take some of these home with them on their flight, or at least ship them. She’s been so undecided on just how many plates they need because it’s only two of them, but since they’re now apparently hosting both Killian’s family and her friends on Christmas Eve, they need more than she thought.

 

No part of her minds having everyone over. She’s actually really excited for everyone to meet. It’s been so weird having two huge sides of her life not even know each other, but that’s happening now. Killian figured out the logistics of it last week and asked her if she’d be okay with it, and she’d barely batted an eye.

 

They have to get the apartment unpacked, though. Luckily, it’s only Liam’s family and Anna and Kris staying. Robin is staying to spend Christmas with Roland’s mom’s parents, and Will is working. She’s going to miss them, but she had no idea where they were going to sleep if they came too.

 

Hotels exist, but she really doesn’t want to make everyone stay in a hotel when she’s over the moon to get to spend the holiday with so many people she loves. She’s had enough lonely ones. A packed house is a good thing. Mostly.

 

Plus, Killian looked giddy asking her about it, and she wants him to stay that way. There’s been enough darkness.

 

They finish most of their cleaning when the food and flowers arrive, and after sorting through it all, she sets up the arrangements while Killian gets started on the pies that he’s making. She’d offer to help, but baking is not her thing. Cooking is something she’s getting better at, but baking – that’s a task for another day. By the time she’s added light and color back into the house, it’s nearly time to eat dinner, especially since her body is still in a different time zone, so she wanders back into the kitchen where Killian is humming along to the radio as he concentrates on laying the dough down for his pies. He’s got his tongue sticking out the slightest bit, his teeth most likely clamped down around it, and she has to stifle her laugh at the intensity of his gaze.

 

At his pie.

 

_Get you a man that looks at you like Killian looks at his pie_ , she thinks to herself.

 

“You know people are going to eat that and then it won’t look nice anymore, right?”

 

“If I were to use that logic, why do you put makeup on in the mornings only to wipe it off at night when you could simply go all day without it?”

 

“Because I like it, and I don’t mind occasionally stressing out over the evenness of my eyeliner.” He doesn’t look up at her. He simply raises a brow, and she gets his point. “Are you saying me looking nice is equivalent to your pies looking nice?”

 

Now he does look up at her, his eyes darkening for a moment as his gaze flickers up and down her body, his tongue running across his bottom lip in a move that is honestly indecent. He should not be allowed to do that when she’s not prepared for it.

 

She’s never prepared for it.

 

“Well, darling, I don’t mean to compare you to a pie, but you’re both absolutely delicious.”

 

Her cheeks heat even at the ridiculousness of his words, and she simply shakes her head back and forth. “I can’t tell if you just made pies better or worse with that comparison.”

 

“Well, we can test that theory out tomorrow after everyone goes home.”

 

“Or while they’re here if you’re feeling extra adventurous.”

 

“Scandalous, Swan.”

 

“I’d say your bedroom door has a lock, but I don’t trust anyone in your family not to break through them. So, yeah, we’ll definitely test it out after they leave.” She taps her fingers on the countertop while Killian goes back to work. “So what are we going to have for dinner tonight?”

 

“Cereal.”

 

“A man after my own heart.”

 

“That’s what I’m going for six days out of seven.”

 

“What are you doing on the seventh day?”

 

“Resting from the exhausting job that it is having to romance you.”

 

“Charmer.”

 

“I know.”

 

They spend the rest of the evening prepping for tomorrow, but they’re both exhausted and fall asleep just after the sun completely sets over the water. It’s been awhile since she’s been to California, longer than it usually is, and she’s missed waking up to the sound of the ocean outside. Yeah, they have a view of it in Boston, but it’s definitely different. It doesn’t smell like sand and salt on their balcony, and the sounds of the city drown out any possibility of the ebbs and flows of the ocean reaching her ears.

 

Each has their own charms.

 

California to her always means she’s on vacation, though, so she can wake up in the mornings and appreciate it all a little more.

 

Except right now she’s awake at four in the morning because of whatever mini version of jet lag she has. She’d be a mess if she ever travelled out of the country.

 

“Go back to sleep,” Killian mumbles into her skin, tightening his arm around her waist and pulling her impossibly closer while he buries his face into her neck, nose and scruff brushing against her and soothing her. He’s not usually groggy in the mornings, is usually not one to lay around in bed to do nothing, but she really appreciates when he does. It’s nice, relaxing, and if she has an itch on her back that she can’t reach, Killian can get it for her.

 

Killian Jones: Actor, brother, uncle, boyfriend, boating enthusiast, back scratcher.

 

That’s obviously what goes on his resume. Not necessarily in that order.

 

“Says the man who has obviously been awake for awhile.”

 

He grunts in response and tightens his arm around her waist again as his fingers fidget against her t-shirt, messing with it until she can feel the warmth of his hand splayed out against her stomach, tapping against her skin but never moving up to mess with her breasts. He’s very obviously exhausted, and she finds a bit of comfort in it as she shifts herself to get more comfortable so that maybe she can go back to sleep as well.

 

She doesn’t. Or she can’t.

 

Her breathing never steadies, her eyes never stay closed, and after an hour of trying with Killian’s steady breathing against her neck, she gives up and reaches for her phone to check it again.

 

_Mary Margaret: Please pray for my sanity today as I spend it with David’s family. James is here, unexpectedly, and I’d shave his head while he’s sleeping if I didn’t want to set a good example for my children._

 

_Emma: They don’t have to know it’s you._

 

_Emma: Sorry, though. I know that he sucks, but this is your one holiday this year with all of David’s family! You can do it!_

 

_Mary Margaret: I liked you better when you were cynical._

 

_Emma: No you didn’t. Go eat a pie. You’re not you when you’re hungry._

 

_Mary Margaret: I’m feeding Brody, which is my excuse to get out of the room since everyone in this family wakes up early. Why are you awake?_

 

_Emma: Time change. I tried to go back to sleep, but it didn’t work._

 

_Mary Margaret: Would it be dumb of me to ask if you’re up cooking?_

 

_Emma: It would. Killian and I prepped last night, and everyone is coming over at two to help._ _  
_

 

_Mary Margaret: Look at my baby growing up hosting a holiday._

 

_Emma: You are one year older than me._

 

_Mary Margaret: Yeah, but we all know I’m the mom friend._

 

_Emma: Literally._

 

_Mary Margaret: Call me tomorrow, and we’ll share horror stories, okay?_

 

_Emma: Promise._

 

“Who are you texting?” Killian mumbles into her skin, kissing up the cords of her neck until he’s nuzzling his nose just behind her ear so that she can feel a mixture of the heat of his breath on her skin and the coolness of his lips and his tongue as he teases the lobe. Really, she can feel every inch of his body pressed into hers from head to toe. His scruff is burning her skin even with its softness, and his hand is moving from her stomach so that his fingertips ghost over her right nipple, gingerly palming her breast while she feels an ache curl between her thighs. And it doesn’t help at all that Killian’s erection is pressing into her ass.

 

Well, it might help. But only if she wants to do more than lounge around.

 

She kind of wants to do more than lounge around.

 

“Mary Margaret,” she whispers in response, craning her neck to give him more access even though he seems to be pretty determined to work just below her ear in _that_ spot. “She’s talking about how much Thanksgiving with David’s family sucks.”

 

Killian clicks his tongue at the same moment that his fingers tease her nipple, applying the slightest bit of pressure that has her arching her back as much as she can, which causes Killian to emit a groan that runs straight to her core, heat further pooling between her thighs.

 

“Isn’t today a day about being thankful?”

 

“Only if you don’t have a shitty family.”

 

He hums in response to that, his lips and his hands still doing wonderous work while she feels her heart tick up a beat – and then one, two, three more. He’s very lazily working her up in the early morning light, most everything still covered in darkness except for the smallest bit of light coming through the windows that fill the walls of this room. She’s still tired, exhaustion running through her, but the only place she can really feel it lingering is under her eyes, the slightest of aches remaining.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Killian murmurs against her jaw as the hand that’s been resting under her head urges her to twist her neck. She does, and even in the uncomfortableness of it all she’s glad for it as his lips move over hers, softly at first before their tongues curl together as her hand reaches to grab the back of his head, fingers threading through the softness to keep him from moving.

 

It’s not the most graceful of movements or positions, but she doesn’t care with the way her entire body is tingling, pleasure and anticipation and love all rolled into one. Living with him for the past month, waking up with him nearly every day, has been so damn wonderful even when it’s too hot or too cold in the apartment, even when one of them elbows the other and steals blankets. But what she really likes are the moments like this, the ones as positively dirty as the way Killian bites down harshly on her bottom lip while rocking his hips into her ass and the ones that are as innocent as her tracing the skin underneath the dusting of hair on his chest.

 

She’s never been this emotionally intimate with anyone despite Killian not being her first love. Or maybe it’s because of that. Maybe she’s loved and lost and learned. Maybe her, maybe both of them, being willing to open themselves up to each other after knowing the heartache that it can bring is what allows them both to be this trusting.

 

This loving.

 

She pulls back when she has to breathe, her chest heaving while heat continues to simmer below the surface of her skin threatening to break free, and Killian’s hands move from her breasts and down her stomach, his nails digging into the skin of her hipbone while she watches his eyelids flutter open, the blue barely visible despite their closeness. That’s when she arches her back, when she aches for more, and the moan that passes through Killian’s lips is one she wants to remember forever.

 

“Emma, bloody hell, love.”

 

“Are you complaining?”

 

“God, no,” he growls while his hand finds its way under the waistband of her pajama bottoms, deft fingers quickly teasing her in a way that has every inch of her skin prickling and hair sticking up while he teases her. “I’d spend every morning riling you up like this if it were physically possible.”

 

“I know, if only my old man had the stamina.”

 

He nips at her neck then, sliding a finger inside of her at the same time, and with the buzzing in her ear, she can’t quite hear what he’s saying. She’s sure that it’s something about aching muscles and it being physically impossible for anyone, but honestly, she doesn’t care. All she cares about is the way that he’s building her up. They’re still fully dressed, haven’t moved from the way that they woke up, but she’s still experiencing on of the most glorious lazy mornings of her life.

 

And that’s exactly how it goes. Killian doesn’t seem to be in any hurry despite the fact that she can feel him straining against her, and he takes his time working her up higher and higher and higher while his lips continue to move against hers or against his neck. She’s in a haze, everything blurry around her, and when she tries to move positions, Killian doesn’t let her. Instead he whispers in her ear for her to be patient, and she listens.

 

She listens to everything that he says, every sweet caress and dirty word. He’s a talker, always has been, and sometimes she wonders how the kindest man she’s ever known can think of things to say that would make nearly anyone blush for weeks on end. She knows that he has his rough and dirty sides, that he’s not always the man who will laugh at her dumb jokes with genuine affections, but sometimes it’s easy to forget with the softness that he’s always showing her.

 

“Move your shorts down, darling,” he groans, moving his hand away from her core just as she felt that her trembling was about to stop and turn into a wave of release.

 

“Bastard.”

 

“Technically, no.”

 

She chuckles into the pillow while she shimmies her bottoms off of her, taking her underwear with them. It’s not the most graceful thing in the world, especially with the ache that’s still remaining between her thighs, but then Killian is grabbing her leg and lifting it over his bare hip while his cock gently slaps against her. The friction is wonderful, deliciously warm and slippery, and she’d stay grinding against him if she didn’t know just how good it feels when he’s inside of her.

 

As she turns her head to kiss him again, wanting to be connected as much as they can, he guides himself into her, stretching her with his thickness and the angle while he settles inside of her. She has to squeeze her eyes shut even more tightly and stop the movements of her lips as he begins to gently rock inside of her, the depth and the position driving her back into the madness that she was so close to getting a few moments ago.

 

Like everything else this morning, it’s a slow push and pull that reaches every inch of her, her blood running hot through her veins while her heart beats an unsteady rhythm that she’s not sure she ever wants to beat steady again. Killian’s arm tightens around her stomach while her hand stays anchored in his hair, the other bunching into the sheets, and she stretches her leg out a little more as Killian shifts to go deeper inside of her, the both of them groaning with the movement and the change.

 

For some reason this morning feels different, like they’re closer somehow, but she knows that it’s not true. There’s no added meaning to the thrust of his hips or of the way that his fingers continue to tease her breasts or her clit as his lips move against her mouth and her jaw. It’s all the same, but she wants to savor it, savor the gentle rocking, the gentle push and pull.

 

She wants to savor this love that she’s somehow managed to find.

 

She wants to savor not hitting the bullseye over a year ago.

 

She wants to savor hitting it in an entirely different way.

 

When her release hits her, a shudder runs through her while her muscles tense, the heat of her body and Killian’s body wrapped around her intense while her heart thumps against her ribcage. She knows that she says his name, she really does, but for a few seconds, she’s not exactly sure what’s going on until Killian’s hips start thrusting into hers at a quicker pace. She can hear the slap of skin, the rhythm of his thrusts, and for a moment she thinks it might match up with the waves outside as the bedroom begins to lighten, the sun rising above the ocean outside and welcoming the day.

 

The start of her day might be better.

 

He’s thrusting with purpose, the moves sharp, and she can feel him pulse and twitch inside of her when he reaches his release, coming undone with a muttering of her name and his love with her and a “fuck” about every other word. They both take a few moments to breathe, their bodies moving in tandem as sweat rolls over both of their skin, and she can still feel the hot twitch of Killian inside of her. He must feel it too because he thrusts up into her while his lips form into a smile in the back of her neck.

 

She can’t see it, but she knows.

 

“I love you, my darling,” he sighs into her ear, a whisper soft enough to diminish any of the roughness he just displayed. “You are the thing I am most thankful for in this world.”

 

Her heart practically breaks through its chambers, her ribcage, and then her flesh at his words, and she shakes her head into the pillow, scratching his scalp with her nails. “Did you just fuck me so that you could make a joke about Thanksgiving?”

 

“It was my intention.”

 

Laughter rumbles through her chest, and she twists her head again to look at him. This time she can see the blue of his eyes, the lightness of the blue mixed with the darkness of desire, and she leans down to kiss his nose.

 

“You’re the most ridiculous man in the world.”

 

“Aye, I’m thinking about getting that monogrammed on my towels.”

 

“I love you,” she laughs, kissing his cheek just over his scar while she idly thinks that they’re going to have to wash the sheets if they don’t move soon. She doesn’t want to move, especially with the way Killian’s fingers are tapping against her stomach. “You come in second on my list of things I am most thankful for, KJ.”

 

“And what would be the first?”

 

“All of the food that is currently in your freezer.”

 

His entire face scrunches up, the lines around his eyes crinkling, and she wishes her phone was in her hand so she could capture that moment. She’ll try to memorize it all the same.

 

“I’d argue with you, but the food downstairs is damn good. And I feel like eating like a king today and then taking a nice nap with you and possibly Aiden.”

 

“Aiden?”

 

“He gets tired when he eats too much.”

 

“I don’t really think he’s going to be eating the feast today. He’s one and a half.”

 

“Aye, I know, but he’ll try.”

 

They do eventually get up and get out of bed, their lazy morning quickly dissolving as they each shower and get ready for the day. Killian can get ready so much faster than her, and she hates it as he steps in and out of the shower in the time it takes her to run lotion up and down her leg and wash her face. A part of her wants to curl her hair and do her makeup nicely since it’s a holiday, but she decides to let her hair dry naturally, the curls framing her face and trailing down her back while she pulls on a pair of light wash jeans that have holes in the knees and then finds her cream sweater in her suitcase. She’s relaxed here, and she really shouldn’t have to feel any other way.

 

She doesn’t bother eating breakfast when she gets down to the kitchen. Instead she takes the cup of coffee Killian hands her and sips on it while he runs through his checklist of everything they need to today. There’s really no reason for him to worry because once everyone is here, they’ll have more help than they know what to do with. Sure enough, Elsa and Aiden walk through the door a quarter before two with Liam, Anna, and Kris trailing behind them carrying bags and boxes of food. Aiden wobbles a bit as he runs to her, and she quickly scoops him up and kisses his cheek while he babbles to her as much as he can.

 

“Oh my God,” Anna squeals, dropping her bags onto the counter before she’s wrapping Emma in a hug, squishing Aiden between them, “I am so dang excited to see you! It’s been too long. Seriously, you cannot let it go that long again.”

 

“You guys are coming in for Christmas next month, right? That’s not long.”

 

“True,” Anna huffs, pulling back and smiling up at her. “We’re going to be there and see your pretty new place. Elsa has shown me pictures, and it’s just gorgeous. I bet it’ll look great with the Christmas decorations.”

 

“It’d look great if we could get everything unpacked,” Killian adds, and she rolls her eyes.

 

“We’ll get there.”

 

“I’m surprised Killian isn’t already there,” Liam says as he walks toward her and kisses her cheek in greeting while his fingers reach out to mess with his son, taking him out of her arms. “We all know the man and his ways. He’d go sleep deprived if it meant he could have everything in order.”

 

“That is so hypocritical, babe,” Elsa points out as she starts getting ready to pop the turkey in the oven. “You both are exactly the same, and Killian is likely that way because of you.”

 

“That is not true.”

 

“It definitely is.”

 

“Liam is much more specific,” Killian says, but she doesn’t believe that.

 

“I think you might win that, KJ.”

 

“I still cannot believe this family argues over who is more anal about cleanliness.”

 

“You married into it, Kris.”

 

“Technically I married Anna whose sister married into it. I never expected to be this close to you all, but when all of our parents live overseas, shit happens.”

 

“Language,” Robin whistles as he, Roland, and Will walk into the house, everyone a mess of limbs and greetings. Obviously no one here knocks or rings the doorbell. They really need to work on that.

 

“But what are we talking about? What shi – shoot?” Will stutters, his gaze falling to the ground when Robin glares at him even though Roland is not paying any attention to them as he talked to Killian, his hands moving all over the place while Killian makes sure to intently listen to every word.

 

“About how you’re all foreigners celebrating Thanksgiving with one American,” she tells Will, jumping up on the counter so that her feet dangle over the edge.

 

“Technically my son is American. He was born here, as was his mum,” Robin sighs, and she knows not to press any further on Roland’s mother. Killian’s told her the story of her death, and she doesn’t need to know more.

 

“Aiden is too. Well, we all are now. We just weren’t born here.”

 

“And Elsa makes the desserts to prove it,” Killian points out as he sets out a few wrapped plates on the counter next to her before coming to stand between her splayed legs, settling himself there while his thumbs rest just above her hipbones for the briefest of moments while he brushes his lips over the corner of her mouth. “They’re Kanelbullar, which is a cinnamon roll. You’ll like them.”

 

“Did you make these for me, Els?” she asks, wrapping her arms around Killian’s shoulders and leaning her head to the right so she can see everyone.

 

“You know that I did. I stopped making Liam’s favorite dessert because he complained about it last time.”

 

“You complained about the turkey, and I still prepared it.”

 

“Oi, you can’t have Thanksgiving without the turkey, mate. That’s just wrong.”

 

“We could have a Cornish hen or something.”

 

“It’s not the same. If I wanted knock off food, I could have stayed at the bar.”

 

“You could still go back,” Killian mumbles to Will, twisting his head to look at him before he’s looking back at her with his brows moving across his forehead and his lips curling into a wicked grin. His face is stupid attractive. “Who knows if Liam is going to mess up the turkey or not? He claims to cook it, but we all knows it’s usually Els or Anna.”

 

“Stop,” she mouths, running the tips of her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “He’s going to poison your food or something, and then I’ll have to unpack all of those boxes at home by myself.”

 

“That’s why you’re concerned with me getting poisoned?”

 

She shrugs her shoulders, tapping against his neck. “Again, you’re only second on my list of things I’m most thankful for.”

 

“Bloody hell,” Will groans, and she doesn’t bother to look over at him. She knows that his face is disgusted. “Can you two get a room?”

 

“We could, but you’d probably still be able to hear us.”

 

She scoffs as she slaps the back of his head, her lips gaping open at the disbelief that he just said that. Killian doesn’t have a response. He simply winks at her before stepping out of her embrace and moving back to the island to help out Elsa and Robin who have been very diligently getting all of the food ready while Anna and Kris run around with the kids who are hopefully not paying any attention to this.

 

“Anyways,” Liam sighs, settling himself down on a barstool, “yes, we make an odd Thanksgiving, but I am personally a fan of a holiday that means I can eat without shame.”

 

“Amen to that.”

 

“There should be a little shame.”

 

“Definitely not.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“I say calories don’t count today, but I’m also wearing loose jeans.”

 

Once everyone settles down, it’s a mess in the house as they get everything ready. Everywhere she turns there’s someone to run into or step away from. She can’t imagine what it’s like for those people who over thirty family members who all come together for one day. The food is one thing, but it’s got to be overwhelming to hear that many voices at once. She’ll never know what that’s like, but she enjoys the small group of people that they’ve got, especially as it keeps growing with her friends, even if they aren’t here.

 

It’s a nice day out today, the wind having calmed, so she moves all of their dishes out to the table on the back deck so everyone can eat out there with the view of the ocean in the background. Anna helps her get a folding table out to keep some excess food on, and while everyone else is working inside, they take Roland and Aiden out to the sand while Anna catches her up on work and life lately.

 

She tells her all about the new television show she’s designing costumes for and about how she and Kris might be moving to New York because of it, and excitement fills her as she thinks about having them on the east coast as well. It’s not super close, but it’s closer than this. Though she does wonder if Anna will be this peppy and excited to see her if they were able to see each other a little more often.

 

Most likely. She’s pretty sure that Anna is always this happy.

 

“Emma, can I go swimming?”

 

“Do you think your dad will let you go swimming in that cold water in your nice sweater, Rol?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yep. I can catch a fish for us to eat.”

 

She barks out a laugh while she picks Aiden up from the ground and dusts his legs off. “I don’t think we’re eating any fish today, Rol, but maybe we can go swimming on another day?”

 

Roland shrugs before his steps line up with hers, and she’s glad to have avoided some kind of tantrum. She’s not too sure if he throws tantrums, but kids are weird. Not being able to swim could have somehow pushed one of his buttons.

 

“My dad has a girlfriend.”

 

“I know. He told me.”

 

“He kisses her.”

 

“I would hope so.”

 

“Dad says that you’re Killian’s girlfriend and that he kisses you.”

 

“This is true,” she laughs, glancing over at Anna who can do nothing but hold her hands up in defeat. “I am Killian’s girlfriend.”

 

“Are you guys going to get married?”

 

She nearly falls into the sand, face first, and brings Aiden down with her, but she manages not to, digging her toes into the ground and steadying herself while her entire face heats. A seven year old just asked her if she was going to marry Killian. Of all the people who she thought would bring it up first, it was not Roland.

 

At least it’s not in front of more than just Anna.

 

Oh shit. Anna’s definitely going to tell everyone about this.

 

“I don’t know, Rol,” she answers honestly. “Maybe.”

 

“But don’t you love him? Dad says he can’t marry Gina because he doesn’t love her yet. But I heard you tell Killian that you love him.”

 

“That’s a good point,” she sighs, racking her brain to try to figure out how to have this conversation. “You shouldn’t marry someone you don’t love, and I do love your Uncle Killian. But I don’t know if we’re going to get married. Not right now at least. Maybe later.”

 

“Are you going to have cake when you do?”

 

“We’ll have cake, yeah? Why don’t you run inside and see if the food is ready, okay?”

 

Roland nods his head, the curls flopping on his scalp, before he’s running off, sand kicking off behind him while Anna takes a step toward her and locks their arms together.

 

“You are not at all smooth.”

 

“The kid caught me off guard,” she whines, adjusting Aiden in her arm. “I wasn’t exactly expecting an interrogation about my intentions with Killian. At least not from Roland.”

 

“You figured Liam would give you one?”

 

“Nah, he’s already done that.”

 

“True. So,” she starts, bumping her shoulder into Emma’s, “are you going to marry Killian?”

 

“Anna.”

 

“What? It’s a fair question. You let Roland ask.”

 

“That’s totally not the same,” she groans before pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t know. We’ve – we want a future together. We’ve talked about it, but, like, in future type turns. If he asked me, though, I’d say yes.”

 

She always thought the admission would be terrifying, but surprisingly, it’s not.

 

It’s…natural.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, I love that ridiculous fool, and I trust him with every single fiber of my being.”

 

“Swan,” Killian yells from the deck, his voice trailing away as it reaches her, “get your fine arse up here so we can eat.”

 

“Language, Jones,” she shouts back.

 

“I promise you that is actually the more appropriate comment I wanted to make about your assets.”

 

“Ah, true love,” Anna sighs, resting her cheek on Emma’s shoulder while she tries to contain her laughter.

 

“Something like that.”


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

“Have you seen my nude heels?”

 

“Have I seen you nude?”

 

“My nude heels.”

 

“Swan, I have seen you nude. Are you okay? I feel like you should remember things like that.”

 

He doesn’t hear back from her until suddenly she’s walking out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest, already dressed in a red skirt and tucked in white blouse with sleeves that flow from her elbows. He’s not really looking at her elbows.

 

“Well you’re certainly not nude,” he sighs, thumbing a page of his novel and flipping it over. “That’s only a little disappointing.”

 

She clicks her tongue before she starts tapping her foot on the ground, her lips continuously parting and closing like she can’t decide just which way she wants to tell him off.

 

Living with her is the joy of his life.

 

“I asked if you had seen my nude heels, not if you had seen me nude.”

 

“Well that makes a hell of a lot more sense.”

 

“You need to get your hearing checked.”

 

“My hearing is fine, love. The walls are thick, and you’ve got your music playing. Plus, I was concentrating on this novel. I think the murderer is about to be revealed.”

 

“Killian, I promise I will listen to you talk about whatever you want when I get home from work, but I’m running late and need these shoes so I don’t look like a bum for my presentation.”

 

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles, sticking his bookmark on the page and throwing the covers on the bed back so that he can climb out and help her look for her shoes. He probably needs to get ready for today as well, but it’s usually easier to wait for Emma to be mostly ready before he starts moving around in the bathroom. “So the nude ones, then? Your black ones would look nice with your skirt.”

 

“Ruby borrowed them.”

 

“Ah,” he sighs, walking into the closet and over to her shelf of shoes to try to look for them. They have to be here. He cleaned the living room yesterday when he was finishing up some of their final touches of unpacking so that they could start decorating for Christmas, and they weren’t in there. It’s a never-ending cycle, but he’s enjoying it. “They’re up at the top with your boots, Swan.”

 

“What? They are not.”

 

“They are,” he points out, reaching up to grab them out between two of her riding boots. “You probably just looked over them in your haste.”

 

“You had to have put them there. I wouldn’t have. It’s up too high.”

 

“I promise you it wasn’t me.”

 

“It had to have been you.”

 

“Fine, we can say it was me if you put the shoes on and stop freaking out about them.”

 

“Sorry,” she huffs, taking them out of his hands and sliding them onto her feet, using his shoulder to prop herself up. “I’m nervous over this final presentation for the gala next week. It’s so far and above what I do on a daily basis, and I’ll never understand why we didn’t hire an event planner after how well it went last year.”

 

“Because you cost less.”

 

“True, but I don’t like that answer.”

 

“You’re going to do wonderful,” he promises, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her closer so that he can brush his lips against her cheek, letting his nose inhale the flowery scent of her perfume that she’s spritzed on her collarbone. It’s new, and he’s rather fond of it. “You’ll kick arse like you do every time, and then instead of stressing out about it, we can go and enjoy the night.”

 

“I don’t remember asking you to be my date.”

 

“I figured it was assumed,” he murmurs against her neck, teasing her with the way she cranes her head to the side to give him more access, the smallest of moans escaping past her red-painted lips. “Though if you want to ask me out again over a video, I’d be okay with that. You can even wear your sweater.”

 

“I’d only do that if I lost a bet, and I’m smarter than to do that now.”

 

“How quickly they grow up.”

 

“You’re – ah – ridiculous.”

 

“I know,” he whispers before gently biting her neck, pulling back only after he’s gotten a firm squeeze of her arse. “You look beautiful, and you’re going to have a good day today at work. I’m sure of it.”

 

She reaches up to mess with his hair, pushing it back off of his forehead while her lips are pressed together in a kind smile. “How?”

 

“I can feel it in my bones.”

 

“I think that’s the cold weather.”

 

“Go to work, Swan. I need you to financially support me while I lounge around at home all day.”

 

“What are you doing today?” she asks as she steps back from him and over to the case where she keeps all of her jewelry, picking up her pearl necklace and clasping it over her neck. “Do you have any plans?”

 

He does, but he’s not about to tell her all of them.

 

“I’m going to go to the gym to work out for awhile before running a few errands and coming back here to clean up and to get some more decorations put up. I’ll save the tree for us to do tonight. I might go meet David for lunch.”

 

“That would be nice. I’m sure you love sitting at his messy desk at the precinct.”

 

“We go out, thank you very much.”

 

“I’m sure you do,” she hums, putting an earring in. “Well, have fun. Give him all of my love and invite them and the kids over to lunch one night soon. Like, next Sunday or something.”

 

“Won’t we be exhausted from the gala?”

 

She shrugs. “So we invite them over for late lunch or early dinner. This month is super busy with work and the holidays, and I don’t want to let anything slip.”

 

“You’re not going to.”

 

“Thanks, KJ. Alright,” she sighs, slapping her hands against her skirt, “how do I look?”

 

“Beautiful. Go kick some arse.”

 

The moment Emma leaves the apartment, he quickly gets dressed in some of his gym clothes, pulling on sweatpants and a jacket over his shorts and t-shirt to combat the cold. Emma says it’s not too bad, but he’s not used to this weather yet, not at all, and he knows it’s only going to get worse. He remembers when he came in for the gala last year, in the few times that they were outside, he was freezing. It wasn’t even that cold, the winter chill not nipping at his nose quite yet.

 

He’s been listening to a few too many Christmas carols.

 

It’s also been a long time since he lived somewhere with weather like this. England was a bit similar, but it’s been…sixteen years. He’s practically been gone for longer than he lived there.

 

That’s an odd thing to think about.

 

It’s a quick drive to the gym now that he has his car here, having had it shipped to Boston instead of driving it across the country, and he spends the next hour running, letting his legs burn and his lungs gasp for air while his entire body drips in sweat. He needs to find a trainer here in town, but it can mostly likely wait until he has to start prepping for Life After, which is so close to what Emma had suggested for the movie title and yet so far. She’d been damn frustrated when he told her the title they were officially going with, but there’s always time for them to change it. They might not require him to train much for it, especially since he’s playing a father who is likely going to spend most of his time indoors grieving, but he never knows.

 

Plus the script is being written for the next Superman movie, and, well, his suit is indecently tight. It’s not so much about looks for him but for comfort. How he managed to score that roll, he’s got no clue, but damn it if it’s not fun to do it.

 

That’s his mindset with everything he does if he’s honest with himself, though he does think he’s becoming rather adept at historical and fantasy pieces. He’d like to do something like Highland Waters again.

 

So he runs and runs and runs until he knows that he has to stop. He doesn’t want his legs to be like jello tomorrow, even when he’ll likely only work on his upper body, so he does eventually stop and head to the showers, letting the cool water rinse him off before he gets dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, lacing up his boots and pulling a beanie over his head before he pays for a few more hours for parking and walks the seven blocks to David’s precinct, pushing through the double doors and waiting in the lobby as he pulls his phone out.

 

_Killian: I’m in the lobby._

_David: Give me ten minutes to finish up this paperwork, and I’ll be right with you._

 

So he finds a seat in the corner of the lobby, tugging his beanie off and shaking his hair out, letting it dry a bit more as he thumbs through his phone, reviewing the list of jewelry places he’s found and the pictures he’s saved to his phone. It’s been a bit of a covert operation managing to find a ring. He’s only told David and Liam. He thought about telling Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Elsa a million times so that they could help him, but honestly, between the three of them, one of them would definitely let it slip to Emma. They all talk to her so often that he knows it would slip. He and David talk to her as well, but he had to tell someone who lived here. Plus, David already knew from Emma’s birthday dinner.

 

Lying to Emma is difficult, but there’s no way he could lie to her about reasons for flying back to California to get Elsa or Liam to help him look at rings.

 

She’d spot the lie in a second with her superpower and uncanny ability to know just when he’s telling the truth and when he’s not.

 

And she definitely knows him far too well that she’d realize something was up with him. So he doesn’t lie. He simply…leaves things out.

 

It’s a fine line, especially when Emma has put her trust in him after having others betray that trust, so he doesn’t want to do that, even if this is a good thing. He’s not cheating on her or hiding a family. He’s not doing something to hurt her, and he doesn’t want her to think that he is.

 

There’s the element of surprise as well. They’ve talked about the future, how they want one, so this won’t be out of the blue, especially with what Anna told him after Thanksgiving. He simply wants to be able to do something romantic for Emma…not that he knows how he’s going to propose yet.

 

He wants to have this ring in his possession and not need to sneak around Emma. The tenseness in his shoulders will go away, and absolutely everything will be fine. He’s got no bloody clue how people do this. That’s another reason he’s told both Dave and Liam. They’ve both been through the exact same thing, and it seemed to work well for them.

 

Support in numbers and experience, he guesses.

 

“You look familiar,” a woman starts, and he startles a bit as he looks up at the older woman sitting across from in, her legs crossed at the ankles as she taps her fingers on the chair’s arm. “Do I know you? Do you work with Lance?”

 

“I don’t think so, love,” he says, flashing her a smile, “but I do get that a lot. I believe I’ve just got one of those faces. Is Lance your son? Does he work here?”

 

“My grandson. He’s a forensic analyst. Just started. He’s supposed to take me out to lunch today.”

 

“That’s sweet of him.”

 

“He’s a sweet boy. Are you meeting someone for lunch or are you here to file papers or something? Have you gotten yourself in trouble?”

 

“No,” he laughs, amused by this woman’s concern for him and if he’s gotten on the wrong side of the law, “I haven’t. I’m meeting a friend.”

 

“For lunch?”

 

“Aye. I’m taking him to lunch since he’s doing a bit of a favor and helping me with something for my girlfriend.”

 

He doesn’t know why he’s sharing this, but he figures it can’t hurt to talk to an elderly woman who has absolutely no idea who he is, even if she does recognize him on a certain level. She seems kind, and he realizes that he didn’t ask her what her name is when they started talking. He should have, but he might be able to coast by without it now.

 

“I should have known a handsome young man like you would have a girlfriend.”

  
  
He winks at her, making sure to really exaggerate his movements. “Oh, lass, you flatter me, but don’t try to hide your disappointment that I can’t take you out on a date. I can see it written all over your face.”

 

She throws her head back in laughter, all of the lines on her face scrunching up. “I don’t think my husband would be very happy, but then again, he’s not as handsome as you are.”

 

“Well, I promise I won’t tell your husband that you said that if you don’t tell my girlfriend that I practically asked another beautiful woman out on a date.”

  
  
“Oh I don’t know. I think it might be good for George to hear that he needs to be sweeter to me. Is your girlfriend good to you?”

 

“She’s wonderful,” he gushes, totally amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “I’m actually taking one of her best friends to go with me so that I can find her an engagement ring.”

 

“Truly?”

 

“Truly, love,” he promises, reaching over and holding out his hand so that so he can shake hers, figuring now is as good of a time as any to introduce himself since this woman is one of three people in the world who knows that he’s getting engaged (hopefully). “My name is Killian. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Sarah,” she smiles, squeezing his hand before letting go. “It’s been lovely talking to you. I’ll have to tell Lance to be as kind as you. I hope your bride says yes.”

 

“Ah now, Sarah, she has to say yes to the question before she’s my bride.”

 

“With a face like yours, how could she say no?”

 

“If you keep charming me like that, I’ll be asking you to marry me instead of Emma.”

 

He smiles at her one last time while she continues to laugh before getting up and walking to the other side of the lobby, waiting by the door that David should be coming out of any second now. He could have stayed talking to Sarah, but he’s a bit anxious to start looking at rings. He does have other things he needs to get done today, decorating included, and he only gets David for an hour and a half. He’ll have to do everything else alone.

 

The doors swing open three minutes later, David coming out as he shrugs on his jacket, and he flashes him a smile before David pulls him in for a brief hug.

 

“You ready to do this?”

 

“I’m ready.”

 

He almost says “I’m ready, Freddie”, and that’s when he knows that he’s past the point of no return on picking up on Emma’s speech patterns. It’ll only truly be bad when Emma starts calling people lass and love.

 

Sometimes she calls him “my love.” That makes his heart swell three sizes.

 

Maybe he is a bit of a sentimental fool.

 

He doesn’t mind.

 

When he asks, David fills him in on Mary Margaret and their kids, telling him all about how excited Leo is for the upcoming holidays and sharing far too much information about Brody’s growth and bodily functions, but the man is taking time out of his day to help him find a ring. He can listen to him talk about his kids, even the things that are a little too much information. Dave is simply a proud husband and father, and Killian can only bemoan him a little bit for it all. As long as he doesn’t keep talking about bathroom habits, of course.

 

There’s only so much he can handle.

 

Something very obviously gets twisted in one’s mind when they have kids to think that other people want to hear about how often they use the toilet…diaper.

 

This is not the thought process he should be having right now.

 

It only takes a few minutes for them to hop on the train and get to Bond and Green. Parking has been hellish lately, so even if they could have taken either of their cars, it takes up too much time to walk to their lots, work their way through traffic, and then find new spots. This is the place he’s most wanted to go to look at rings, and he’s in a hurry to look over it all. There’s one he found online that’s an oval cut with a halo surrounding it (he’s now pretty much an expert in rings now), and he wants to see it.

 

“Why do I feel like they’re watching us?” David asks him as they peruse the cases, thick glass covering every type of sparkling jewelry that he can think of. There’s an entire case of broaches, and he wonders if people still wear those.

 

He wonders if they ever.

 

“Because they are,” he answers simply, his eyes glancing up at the sales assistants watching them before he looks back at a few sapphire rings. “They want to make sure we don’t steal anything.”

  
  
“I’m a detective.”

  
  
“They don’t know that.”

 

“I have on my badge.”

  
  
“It’s underneath your shirt, Dave,” he laughs, pointing out a diamond ring in the case and ignoring David’s offense that anyone could ever possibly think that he could be a thief. “Do you like this one?”

 

“It’s nice.”

 

Nice isn’t what he’s looking for.

 

He’s known that he was stressed about this whole thing, known it for the weeks that he’s been thinking about that, but he didn’t honestly feel it until right about now with all of these options in front of him and none of them seeming right.

 

Emma deserves right.

 

“I don’t think it’s very Emma, though,” he sighs, eyes glancing up again at the saleswoman who’s been following them behind the cases. “Excuse me,” he glances down at her name tag, “Mallory, do you have any like this, with the oval cut, but with a gold band?”

 

“We have a few that I can bring out from the back if you’d like.”

 

He curls his lips up into a smile, some of anxieties calming. “I’d like that.”

 

Mallory nods her head and walks away, disappearing behind a door that he assumes is where they keep the nicer jewels. He imagines that the security in this place is wonderful, but it’s likely smart to keep some things in the back. He really doesn’t know. He’s never bought an engagement ring before. It’s always been earrings or a necklace, and those seem to be a little different than this.

 

No, those are different than this.

 

For one, there’s far less security.

 

For another, there’s far more meaning in an engagement ring.

 

“You’re vibrating out of your skin, Jones.”  


He rolls his eyes at David. How the man romanced Mary Margaret he’ll never know. “I’m excited. I want to find a ring, get it sized and, and then have it with me. Do you think if we don’t find anything today I should think about customization?”

 

“I think you should look at all of the stores beforehand and then maybe. Do you know when you want to ask Emma? If you keep it a secret for too much longer, she’ll figure it out. She would have been the best detective in the city had she gone that route.”

 

“Aye, she’d be a hell of a lot better than you,” he agrees, tracing his finger over the glass case at some sapphire earrings he might get Elsa for Christmas. He’s got to get his gifts together as well. It’s difficult when no one says what they want. Maybe he’s bad at gift shopping. “And if I can, sometime before Christmas. I don’t know. It just feels…right. We met this time of year, and I think that’d be nice. Not on Christmas, though. I think it should be a separate day, and I was kind of thinking before my family flew in. I have a feeling Anna would somehow find the ring even though she wasn’t looking, and she’d definitely tell Emma.”

 

“There’s less than a month until Christmas,” David points out, tapping his fingers before checking his watch. They’ve only been to one place, and they’re nearly out of time.

 

“I know. I should have started looking back in October, but life was so busy with the move and with all that comes with it. I’m probably crazy for doing all of this.”

 

“Being crazy and in love are kind of synonymous, but it’s in a good way.”

 

And there’s a bit of the romantic Dave that likely helped him court Mary Margaret.

 

“Look at you acting a bit like your wife,” he laughs, his fingers tracing the case a bit more while Mallory continues to take too much time in the back. “That happens more and more every time I see you.”

 

“I’ve been with Mary Margaret for eight years. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It won’t be weird until she starts being realistic like me.”

 

He briefly wonders if he and Emma have picked up on each other’s tendencies and speech patterns too quickly, but he brushes it away. It’s not an important thought, and he’s rather fond of Emma telling him “it’s a plan, Stan.” It means she’s happy and willing to play around.

 

“The world will be ending if there were to ever happen.”

 

“Alright,” Mallory sighs, walking out the door with a black case of what he assumes are the rings, “so these are all of the ones with the similar oval and pear shapes that you’ve been looking at but with the gold and rose gold bands. I put a few different ones that you might like too.”

 

“Thank you.” His eyes scan over the box quickly, each ring getting a little of his attention. He definitely likes the gold better, thinks Emma will too, and when his eyes scan over a singular oval cut diamond with a gold band, he knows that’s the one he wants. It’s stunning but it’s simple, and that’s what Emma likes. And somehow he knows just like every cliché that’s ever been written. “Do you think she’ll like this one?” he asks David, pointing to the ring.

 

“Yeah, I think she will.”

 

It takes longer than he expects to fill out the paperwork for the ring, and while for a brief moment he considers going to other shops, he’s sure on this one. He’s done enough research to know, and he’s got this gut feeling that he’s planning on trusting. So he fills out the insurance, pays for Emma’s ring (bloody hell is that insane to think about) and the earrings for Elsa, and then makes his appointment to pick it up once they’ve sized it for Emma. It’s all a bit of a blur, which likely shouldn’t happen when he’s in the middle of one of the most important decisions of his life, but David assures him that it’s normal as they leave the store and grab lunch to go since they’ve run out of time. It’s the least that he can do for David coming to help him when he should be working.

 

After he and David part ways at the precinct, David going back to work and Killian walking to his car still in the garage at the gym, he pulls his phone out to text his brother, knowing that Liam won’t answer a call while at work.

 

_Killian: I’ve bought a ring and will pick it up after it’s sized in a few days. Hope you’re having a good morning!_

 

He stuffs his phone in his pocket and hurries the rest of the way to his car, excitement bubbling over him so that he walks a bit more quickly than usual. Maybe it’s relief, maybe it’s nerves. He really doesn’t know. But as the day goes on, as he goes grocery shopping and picks up dry cleaning (one of his favorite things about living in Boston is the fact that he has more anonymity than California and can do things like picking up his dry cleaning without too much trouble), everything starts to settle. The nervous beating of his heart becomes steady, the erratic tapping of his fingers becomes measured, and he’s able to simply focus on what is ahead of him to do for the day.

 

And maybe a bit for his entire future.

 

He’s got to stop watching soap operas during the day.

 

The rest of his afternoon is spent hanging wreaths on their exterior doors, adding baubles and accents to them to brighten up the plain green. He notices that none of their neighbors have done anything outside, and he wonders if they’ll be the only ones to do it. Then again, they’ve lived in this building for over a month now and despite many efforts, he still hasn’t met anyone who lives on his floor. Maybe they’re not interested in decorating for the holidays. Maybe they don’t celebrate them. It doesn’t matter to him. He’s going to leave the wreath up.

 

His phone starts ringing in his back pocket, and he quickly pulls it out, sliding his finger across the screen and hitting the speaker button as Liam’s voice booms through. “So you bought a ring? Are you feeling like Gollum?”

 

“That may very well be the nerdiest joke you’ve ever made.”

 

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Liam laughs, the gentle thud of a door closing clicking behind him. “All jokes aside, you’ve bought it?”

 

“I have, so I guess that makes it all pretty official.”

 

“My baby brother is all grown up.”

 

He scoffs at Liam’s condescending tone, and even though Liam can’t see him, he rolls his eyes while he shuffles through a box of string lights to find some to put out on the balcony and in the bedroom.

 

“Is this what finally makes me a man in your outdated ways?”

 

“Possibly. So how long am I going to have to keep this from my wife? I already deleted your text because somehow she’ll see it from across town.”

 

“She has superpowers, that woman.”

 

“And figuring out my lies is the main one.”

 

“Maybe if you didn’t lie to your wife so much.”

 

“Oi,” Liam laughs, the sound of a can popping open mixing in with the laughter, “you know what I mean.”

 

“Aye, I do.” He turns the phone off speaker and presses it between his shoulder and ear before he grabs three boxes of white lights and pushes out onto the balcony door, gooseflesh rising across his arms almost immediately, all of the warmth of inside fading away. “I’ll hopefully have asked before you all come in for Christmas. I’m not…I have no idea how to ask her. I know what I want to say, but I haven’t figured out all of the logistics of it.”

 

“I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s never going to go like you plan. And your speech, whichever one you have in your head, you’ll remember to say about one sentence out of it.”

 

“That’s how it went with you and Els, right?”

 

“Elsa didn’t even let me ask the question.”

 

“She does like to take charge.”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

“Oh God no,” he groans, his eyes scanning the balcony to try to figure out just how he wants to set up the lights. He thinks stringing them around the top of the trellis and down the sides will work since he can’t really hang them on the glass railing. “I love you, but that is not something I’m going to talk about with you.”

 

“Your mind is dirty, brother.”

 

“The tone of your voice was absolutely salacious.”

 

“It was perfectly innocent.”

 

“I don’t believe you’ve ever been innocent.”

 

“I am as pure as the driven snow.”

 

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

 

“Well, according to you I lie to my wife all the time.”

 

“Because you do, and you’ll continue to until I ask Emma.”

 

He’s eternally grateful for a lot of things, but in this moment, there’s nothing he’s more grateful for than the fact that he stopped speaking when he did. He didn’t see Emma come into the apartment through his view from outside, and he definitely didn’t see her make her way outside. She’s already changed into her pajamas, warm flannel and thick socks covering her from head to toe. He has no idea how long she’s been home, but he could have ruined absolutely everything there.

 

Every cent that he’s worth comes from acting, and he can’t manage to act in his personal life when he really needs to.

 

“Who’s that?” she mouths, crossing her arms over her chest and walking further toward him.

 

“Liam,” he says aloud, opening his right arm and letting her come to stand beside him, tugging her close and kissing her temple in greeting. She’s warm, so much warmer than he is. He hasn’t even put the lights up yet.

 

“Why are you saying my name?” Liam asks, his voice raising in pitch.

 

“I was telling Emma who I’m on the phone with,” he explains, rubbing his hand up and down her waist. He’s not sure if it’s to warm him or her up.

 

“Tell him I said hi.”

 

“Tell her I said hello.”

 

He chuckles at that, their timing of their demands almost identical. Emma and Liam are two peas in a pod for two people who had a bit of a rocky start. It was all Liam’s doing, but everything seems to be fine now.

 

“Emma said hello,” he tells Liam, knowing that Emma can likely hear the conversation now. “I’m going to let you go, okay? Text me later. You still haven’t told me what I need to get Aiden for Christmas.”

 

“Preferably a new aunt.”

 

He practically drops his phone at that, the glass screen only saved because he does manage to get his bearings. Man does he hope that Emma did not hear that.

 

She probably couldn’t over all of the hysterical coughing that he’s doing.

 

Has he officially turned into a madman.

 

“Bye,” he coughs, not able to get anything else out even with the way that Emma is patting his back.

 

“Are you okay, KJ?”

 

“Y-yeah,” he sputters, trying to take a few deep breaths before he looks down at Emma, dipping his head to quickly slide his lips over hers. He can briefly taste chocolate, which means that she stopped for a milkshake on the way home. He’s not sure if that’s a good sign for her day or a bad sign. “Hello, darling,” he mumbles, greeting her properly. “How was your day? How did the presentation go?”

 

“Can we go inside to talk about it? It’s nothing bad. I’m just really freaking cold and want to sit down on the couch. Besides, I don’t think you’re ever going to get these lights up tonight.”

 

“I could.”

 

“You’re not going to.”

 

He nods before they walk inside, Emma’s steps hurrying until she’s inside first, practically jogging down the hallway to the living room, grabbing a blanket out of the basket and curling up into her favorite corner of the sofa before he even manages to get into the living room. She’s either full of energy or really got that cold in such a short amount of time. Emma should most definitely be used to this weather, but she is cold natured.

 

“So,” he hums, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch and sticking his feet next to Emma’s legs, “how was your presentation? Did you crush it?”

 

“Like Fat Amy.”

 

“Yeah?” he laughs, his eyes crinkling at her reference. He’s so damn proud of her all of the time, but he’s mostly happy that she likely doesn’t feel as much stress as she has been, even if the gala is still a little over a week away. “You’re amazing, Emma.”

 

“I know.” She winks, but he still sees the blush rise on her cheeks. “But thank you. I’m so damn excited that it’s over. I mean, I’ve still got the actual gala, but I’m only in charge of a little of that. But John and Ella gave the stamp of approval on everything. I’m free, baby.”

 

“So celebrations are in order then?”

 

“If by celebration you mean some hot chocolate that you spike with your good rum, then yes.”

 

“You’re not interested in decorating the tree?”

 

“Maybe after I’ve had something to drink. And eat. And maybe after a nap. Ooh, and after catching up on Superstore.”

 

“So never?”

 

She reaches forward and grabs his toe, wiggling it a little bit. “Later. I promise we’ll decorate later. You know how I feel about Christmas now.”

 

He does, and they do.

 

It’s slow going. Emma takes awhile to get up and get her drink, her exhaustion from weeks of stress hitting her the slightest bit, but once she’s had her hot chocolate (rum included) and watched two and a half episodes of Superstore, she gets up off the couch and they start decorating the tree. With the two of them, it doesn’t take long. Really, it’s pretty quick, even if Emma keeps leaving giant spots in the tree without ornaments. But it does get done.

 

As do the lights out on the balcony, the white glow covering the trellis. It mixes in with all of the lights of their other apartments and some of the boats down below, but really, all he can think about is the fact that if he can manage to get Emma out into the cold again, this would be a nice spot to ask her to marry him.

 

Then again, if he truly thinks about it, it doesn’t really matter where or how. He thinks it’d be just fine to ask her like they are now, curled up on the couch with Emma’s head resting on a pillow in his lap while he threads his fingers through her hair, lulling them both to sleep with the comfort of it all.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

“Ruby is going to be here in thirty minutes,” she mumbles into Killian’s back, burrowing her face further into his sweater. It’s absurdly soft, and she wonders if he’ll ever take it back if she steals it. She’d probably have to keep it hidden away somewhere other than the closet, though. It was much easier to steal things when they didn’t live in the same place. “We have to get out of bed.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

“Babe, I have to be there early. You’re my date, so you have to be there early with me.”

 

“If I break up with you for the night, can I come later?”

 

“No. Then you’d have to buy me food to nourish my broken heart and still show up.”

 

She feels Killian’s groan more than she hears it, the sounds muffled by the sheets and pillows he’s got his face buried in. It’s three in the afternoon, far past time for them to be lounging in bed, but honestly, they’ve been exceptionally lazy today and have been sleeping on and off all day. It’s Saturday, so they can totally do it. And if it were any other Saturday, she’d be fine with them not moving or turning the lights on (Killian is usually a little more active), but they’ve got to go to this damn charity gala.

 

That makes it sound bad. It’s a good thing, a really good thing, for the Children’s Shelter and a few other places around town that always join in, but she’s kind of tired of it after dealing with it for weeks on end. She misses last year when Lucy at the museum took care of everything and the only thing she had to worry about was the fact that she was going on a very publicized date with a complete stranger who is now her boyfriend and the man she lives with.

 

Her life is really weird.

 

She knows that, thinks about it all of the time, but sometimes it really hits her how strange she and Killian are together. Or not necessarily how they are together but more the fact of how they got together.

 

It’s really a strange story.

 

Ruby is definitely going to brag about it all being because of her tonight. She already knows. If Ruby and Dorothy work out, though, Emma can get the same bragging rights, so things will even out.

 

Hoping a relationship will work out for bragging rights is obviously the height of maturity.

 

“So you’re telling me that breaking up with you does me no good?”

 

She hums in response, shifting up so that she can run her lips over the back of his neck, sprawling herself out across his back like Leo and Aiden do to her sometimes. Comparing herself to toddlers is probably not a great thing either, but she doesn’t care. His skin is warm and a bit salty from dried sweat, and even though she’s the one trying to get them out of bed, she finds herself not wanting to move from this spot. Sometimes she wonders if they could stay in bed for weeks on end, alternating between lazily moving against and within each other and sleeping or watching TV while eating junk food.

 

She should take some days off of work in the new year, and instead of going anywhere and getting exhausted from walking around, they’ll simply stay here and stay in bed, all of the curtains closed so that nothing from the outside world gets in.

 

Yeah, that sounds really good right now.

 

“Swan, I know that you’re trying to entice me to move, but running your lips across my neck is not going to make me get up and shower.”

 

“Would you rather I scream in your ear?”

 

“It’ll get me up and moving faster.”

 

“Kinky.”

 

Killian rolls their bodies before she can move off of him, and for the briefest of moments, he’s smothering her, her breath escaping her while his entire body weight presses down on top of her.

 

“Killian,” she mumbles, pushing her arms up against him while he shakes his hips to dig himself further into her, the friction so damn good that maybe they don’t have to get out of bed. “Killian, get off of me.”

 

“Nah, I’m good like this.”

 

“You’re an asshole.”

 

“An arsehole who you want as your arm candy tonight, so I suggest that you be nice to me.”

 

She knees him as hard as she can without actually hurting him, and he plays along, groaning a bit too loudly before rolling off of her and sitting up in bed, his back scrunched over as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his hands, the bed still bouncing the slightest bit after all of their movement.

 

“Go take your shower, love,” he encourages, twisting his head and nudging her leg. “Ruby will kill you if you’re not at least showered when she gets here.”

 

“I’m still going to be in the shower by the time she gets here because I have to shave.”

 

He raises a brow, but she doesn’t really notice because she can’t stop staring at the unruly state of his hair. It’s got to be sticking in a million different directions because of sleep and her hands, and she kind of wants to spend all day running her hands through it. The man has soft hair. That she’s only kind of obsessed with.

 

(Okay, really obsessed.)

 

“Doesn’t your dress cover your legs?”

 

“Yeah,” she sighs, rolling out of bed and tugging at her clothes to pull them off her, tossing her shirt on the bed. Killian is totally staring at her boobs right now, but she doesn’t care. He’s seen her naked enough times in non-sexual situations that it doesn’t even matter. Casual intimacy and confidence and all that jazz. “But you’re wearing a tux that makes you look very dapper, and, you know, you might get lucky tonight.”

 

“Yeah?” he laughs, his lips curling up into a smirk.

 

“I mean, maybe. It depends on my mood and if I get to shave.”

 

“Please, I’m used to your hairy legs. You’ve got to keep warm for winter.”

 

“So funny,” she mock laughs, pulling her pajama pants down before leaning over the bed and twisting a bit of his chest hair around her finger, “especially from the bear himself. But, no, I’m going to shave and it’s going to feel like a dolphin tonight.”

 

“I don’t think you realize how creepy that sounds.”

 

“Gross,” she whines, stepping away from him and into the bathroom so that she can turn the water on, the chill of the air reaching her skin faster than she thought it would. Her favorite thing about living here, Killian not included, is definitely how much better the water pressure is. And how fast it heats up. At her old place she’d be freezing for at least ten minutes only to have the water struggle to get her conditioner out.

 

She can’t believe that there are people out there who can get away with not using conditioner. Her hair would be one big knot without it.

 

Plus the split ends. Those would be insane.

 

By the time she’s out of the shower, her entire body washed and shaved (like a dolphin in a totally non weird way), she can hear Ruby in the bedroom talking to Killian. She doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but she’s sure it’s Ruby complaining about her. It has to be. She’s definitely late, and even though Ruby is always late, she seems to forget that whenever it’s Emma.

 

“Emma Swan,” Ruby groans, pulling the bathroom door open while she’s still drying herself off with the towel.

 

“Oh my God,” she shrieks, wrapping her towel around her waist to cover herself, “have you ever heard of knocking?”

 

“Have you ever heard of being on time?”

 

“I’m only a little late,” she promises, stepping away from the towel to grab her robe off the hook, quickly wrapping it around her, tugging at the string around her waist. “You look nice.”

 

“I went ahead and did my makeup since I knew that you’d be late.”

 

“I’m a punctual person.” Ruby raises her brow in a move that is so Killian that it’s weird. She’s so thankful that they get along, that they’ve always gotten along, but she’s starting to think they’ve spent a little too much time together. Or maybe she has a type in the kind of people she likes. “Okay, so I am most of the time.”

 

“Just not tonight, but that’s okay. I’m going to work my magic to make you pretty.”

 

“This is when you say that I’m already pretty,” she laughs, drying off her hair and patting down her face before she grabs her face wash and begins rubbing it into her skin.

 

“You’re already pretty,” Ruby drolls, sarcasm dripping off of every syllable. “I think I’m just going to do your regular makeup tonight but with a different eyeshadow and a red lip.”

 

“You’re going to make me look like a Christmas tree, aren’t you?” She cringes a bit as the acid of her face wash gets in her eyes before she’s rinsing that out and reaching for her moisturizer. “My dress is green, Rubes. I don’t need to go with the whole thing.”

 

“I’m not going to make you look like a Christmas tree, I promise. You’ve just got to trust me? Have I ever let you down before?”

 

“There was the time in college where you accidentally died my hair red. There was the other time where you made that homemade face mask and I had breakouts for a month. Ooh, or where you did my makeup for an interview and I didn’t know until it was over that I had orange streaks all over my face. And I definitely didn’t get that job.”

 

“But that was back when we had no money and no experience. Now we have no money and plenty of experience.”

 

“That can be taken in so many ways.”

 

Emma watches Ruby waggle her eyebrows through the mirror. Yep, she and Killian are going to have to spend some time apart after tonight.

 

Maybe before tonight.

 

They’re too similar.

 

“And that’s the Ruby way, my darling. Now let’s get ready because you have an event to run, and the carriage turns back into a pumpkin at midnight.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“It does to me.”

 

Ruby’s pretty much a master when it comes to makeup. It’s one of those things where she just has the natural talent with it. She watches videos online and takes classes, is always trying out new things, and even though sometimes Emma ends up looking like a clown, usually Ruby knows exactly what she’s doing. Except when it comes to hair. Mary Margaret despite having a pixie cut for years, is definitely the best out of the three of them at doing hair. But she wasn’t about to ask her over when she, David, and the kids are coming over for lunch tomorrow anyways. She’d asked Ruby, but Ruby had laughed and said that she didn’t plan on moving away from bed all day Sunday.

 

No part of her blames her.

 

She’s kind of regretting her decision to be social tomorrow already.

 

“Alright, ladies,” Killian sighs, poking his head into the bathroom, his lips pressed together in a soft smile, “I know you’re still in the middle of finally doing something about the tragedy that is Emma’s face, but I need to take a shower.”

 

“You can take a shower while I’m in here,” Ruby whistles as she brushes some eyeshadow over Emma’s lid. “I’m not shy.”

  
  
“I know you aren’t, love, but I’m afraid that I am. That blue shadow looks very vibrant.”

 

“I know that it’s not blue, babe,” she huffs, opening the eye that’s not getting worked on. “Get your stuff and go shower in the guest room, okay? I think we’ll still be in here awhile.”

 

“You’re right. It’ll likely take a long time for Ruby to really get all that blue piled up.”

 

“Go take your shower.”

 

“As you wish, Swan.”

 

She closes her eyes while Ruby keeps working, and she can hear the faint sounds of Killian gathering his things out of the shower before the door shuts behind him.

 

“I was really hoping he was going to shower in here.”

  
  
“You are so gross.”

 

“Your lover is hot.”

 

She snickers at that, memories of Killian calling himself her lover when they weren’t exactly sure what they were to each other yet coming to mind. He’s so ridiculous, but listening to Ruby now, she realizes that all of her friends are absolutely and utterly ridiculous.

 

She likes it that way.

 

An hour later her makeup is done and Ruby has just helped her pin her hair back up in a high ponytail, the curls trailing down her neck and the slightest bit of her back. It’s heavy enough that she knows she’ll likely change it before the end of the night, but for now, it works, especially because it’ll keep her hair out of her face as she runs through her checklist at the venue before everyone gets there. If it wasn’t more comfortable to have her hair down, she’d wear it up nearly every day.

 

“This feels like we’re going to prom,” she sighs while stepping into her dress, pulling it up and zipping it as much as she can on her own.

 

“Except you feel ridiculous because you’re almost thirty and not sixteen?”

 

“Besides the fact that I’m not almost thirty, that’s exactly it.”

 

“Twenty-nine, thirty, same difference.”

 

“Mathematically that is so wrong,” she scoffs while walking out into the bedroom where Killian is buttoning up his shirt, leaving just enough buttons undone that she knows he likely won’t wear his bowtie for long if at all. “KJ, can you zip my dress?”

 

“In one moment, love,” he promises, stepping over to her with his bottom lip tugged between her teeth. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

 

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

“Not so bad. That’s what every man wants to hear.”

 

“You’re dashing,” she sighs, exaggerating the word as Killian takes her zipper and runs it up her back, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder so it doesn’t get caught. When he’s finished, she turns around and wraps her arms around his neck, fingers messing with his hair. It’s weird being directly eye to eye with him, but it always happens in these heels. “And, like, really damn hot too.”

 

“That’s what I was going for,” he sighs, turning his head and kissing her wrist. “You probably need to go in there and help Ruby zip up her dress.”

 

“Nope, I’m good,” Ruby protests as she stumbles out of the bathroom already zipped up into her white jumpsuit. “Aww, look at the lovebirds. We have to take a picture to send to Mom and Dad.”

 

“Who?”

  
  
“David and Mary Margaret, obviously. Their initials even match up with being Mom and Dad. It’s very fitting. Go stand out on your balcony so I can get one.”

 

“Rubes.”

 

“Nope, no protesting. You’ll thank me later when you want to look back on your prom day.”

 

“Prom?” Killian asks, raising his brow in question.

 

“It’s nothing.” She unwraps her arms from his neck and turns to walk out of the bedroom so that she can go down the hall to get access to the balcony, Killian and Ruby right behind her. It’s freezing out here, especially with the sea breeze wafting up, so she bounces a bit waiting for Killian to come stand next to her at the railing. “It is too cold to even walk outside for five minutes.”

  
  
“If you just smile for the crazy woman, we’ll be inside soon enough.”

 

She laughs under her breath as Killian wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her closer while she presses her hand against his chest and smiles as Ruby takes a few pictures of them, one time getting far too close. And as cold as she is, as much as she wants to go inside, she ropes Ruby into coming to stand next to her so that they can take a few pictures too.

 

What is adult prom if not taking awkward pictures with your friends?

  
Once she’s back inside she grabs her coat and her clutch, wishing goodbye to Ruby and telling her that they’ll see her later when she and Dorothy show up to the museum for the dinner. It’s not a long ride there, especially with how fast their Uber driver is moving through the roads, and before she knows it, she’s in the thick of planning and making sure that their tables for their guests have all the right name cards in all of the right places. She’s constantly amazed by how people get upset over who is sitting next to who.

 

This may be metaphorical adult prom (it’s totally not), but she kind of thought the drama would be over. Then again, she’s obviously making up for everything that happened in high school that she missed out on by simply showing up and making the grades, only joining clubs if she really hated her foster parents and wanted to be out of the house a little more often. Or if she needed them to look good on her college application. She did a lot of that. She just didn’t do the drama. She doesn’t want to know, so she makes sure that the name cards are right, that the preordered dinners are all lined up, and that the donor tables are clear and easy for people to donate money throughout the night.

 

She’s the first person to sign the sheet, filling out her donor information and writing her donation in the box. She’ll have to make out her check later. Next year they should totally get those card swipe things that hook up to phones. Of course, most people don’t take this money directly out of their personal bank accounts. They have several that need wire transferring or whatever, which is absolutely insane.

 

That’s just something she’s not going to think about tonight.

 

Everything is a bit of a blur for the two hours that she’s helping set up, her legs weaving in and out between Christmas trees. They’ve gone with warmer colors this year instead of the silvers and blues of last year, and she likes this better. It feels more intimate and festive and less snow queen. But eventually some of the guests start to arrive, everyone wandering around and mingling or sitting at their seats, and she can breathe a sigh of relief as she’s officially off of the clock…except for going around and asking for donations.

 

Maybe she’ll send Killian around to do them in her place. That worked really well last year.

 

“This looks wonderful, Emma,” Dorothy compliments as she and Ruby settle down into their seats. “Have you already taken all of your pictures for work?”

 

“Lucy, who runs the events at the museum, is going to text me the pictures when there’s a crowd in here. So no crappy phone pictures or anything.”

 

“So you can actually enjoy dinner?”

 

She smiles. “That I can.”

 

For the rest of the night, all she can think about is the difference between this time last year and right now.

 

Last year she’d probably been sweating she was so nervous and uncomfortable. This year she’s slouching at the table with her arm stretched out over Killian’s shoulders while she plays with his hair and asks Dorothy how work is going, Killian’s hand resting heavily on her thigh.

 

Last year the conversation had been stilted and a little awkward. This year it flows naturally, everything coming easily even with some of her coworkers that she doesn’t often see sitting at the table with them.

 

Last year when Killian asked her to dance, she hadn’t really wanted to do it. This year she happily rises from her chair and lets him guide her out to the small dance floor, their feet and bodies expertly moving together instead of gently swaying back and forth.

 

Last year she wasn’t sure if she’d ever find someone who would love her for who she is without trying to change her or lying about who they are. This year she’s got a partner in her life who loves her without hesitation and who she loves in return.

 

She’s turning into a cheesy mess, but it’s a good night that has her cheeks hurting from smiling so much, and that has nothing to do with the sweet talking the donors.

 

“You look pensive,” Killian sighs as he pulls her a bit closer, releasing her hands so that he can wrap his arms around her waist.

 

“That’s just my face.”

 

“One of the many.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, clasping her fingers together on the nape of his neck.

 

He looks so handsome tonight, his hair combed back but just wild enough that it’s not too straight laced, and the bowtie he did end up wearing for a little while untied and draped around his neck with some of his shirt buttons undone. She’s feeling particularly affectionate right now, especially with the few glasses of wine she’s had and the lateness of the night, only a few people left in the museum, so when she gets the opportunity to rest her head on his shoulder, she does.

 

“This is so much better than last year.”

 

“Oh I don’t know,” he laments, his lips brushing her temple, “last year was pretty good. We had a fantastic first date. I even got to stay the night.”

  
“And then you left in a super rude way and stole my swan mug.”

 

“I’m a scoundrel, I tell you.”

 

“Maybe even a rascal.”

 

“Definitely one of those. I’m sorry I did you dirty the night after we met.”

 

She clicks her tongue before she presses a kiss into the side of his neck, her nose heavily pressing into his skin so that his cologne wafts over her, somehow reaching all the way down to her toes. “I think you’ve more than made up for it.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, I think you could likely make me grovel a bit.”

 

“You know not what you offer.”

 

“Aye, I’m making a grave mistake.”

 

She chuckles into him before pulling back so that she can look in his eyes, the blue light in both color and feel. She shouldn’t be able to notice things like that, but she does. He’s happy, and she knows that because she knows him.

 

What a wonderful feeling that is to know someone and have them know you in return.

 

“As long as you don’t steal my mug again, I’ll be good.”

 

“Well, I tend to reserve stealing from lasses as a first date activity.”

 

“Do you count that as our first date?”

 

“Really? That’s what you got out of that? Not that I’m a dirty thief?”

 

“Well, I knew that. I didn’t know you considered that to be our first date since it was really more of a…business transaction.”

 

“Swan, if you consider that a business transaction, I’m going to get a little worried that you kiss other men like that at work.”

 

“Gotta make sure I don’t get fired.” Killian raises both of his brows, and she feels the redness and the heat rise in her cheeks. “That was a bad joke. Like, not funny in the slightest.”

 

“The worst.”

 

“Undoubtedly.”

 

“But I don’t know,” he laments, looking up at the ceiling for a moment so that she can admire his jawline, “I think that counts as our first date. We simply had a three-month courtship before I was your _lover_.”

 

The way he says the words has that metaphorical fire flickering down her body, but all she can do is laugh, that word continuously coming back tonight.

 

“This is true. It was, like, some really slow build up. You’re very good at being a lover, though. Ten out of ten would recommend to others if I were into that kind of stuff.”

 

“Good to know that you don’t want to share.”

 

“Never.” She quickly brushes her lips over his, tasting the slightest bit of rum, the spice stinging. “I think I might just love you too damn much.”

 

He looks down at her then, eyes brimming with affection and smile so wide that his eyes crinkle and his teeth are on full display. She loves the soft smiles, the intimate touches, but sometimes she loves the full on joyful, gleeful even, smiles that make his entire face light up.

 

“And I you, my love.” He kisses her again, this one slow and lingering, before he whispers, “do you think we should go find Ruby to make sure she’s not donating everything I’m worth to charity? I love a good cause, but my girlfriend is rather fond of eating.”

 

“I can pay my own bills.”

 

“This is true. Okay, so I am rather fond of eating and having running water in my home.”

 

She laughs before she unwraps her arms and pats his chest. “There you go, KJ.”

 

They find Ruby and Dorothy at the bar, the two of them in a giggling fit, and after closing out their tabs, she and Killian make sure to put them in a car while they wait for their own. The temperature has continued to dip the longer the night has gone on, and right as they get into their car, she swears that she sees the tiniest bit of snow. It’s likely a figment of her imagination, but it wouldn’t surprise her if winter has decided to fully come into effect now that it’s the second week of December.

 

“Don’t forget to post those photos on the shelter’s Instagram.”

 

“Thanks,” she tells Killian, pulling her phone out of her bag and logging out of her personal account so that she can upload the pictures with the caption she had worked up before tonight, making sure to tag all of the right people. It almost feels wrong promoting a fancy event where people get dressed up in gowns to help children who have been abandoned and abused, but unfortunately, it’s what works to get attention from everyone.

 

Or maybe fortunately. At least something works. She wants to help, no matter the weird methods that it takes.

 

And social media isn’t really that weird. She’s only twenty-nine, so she’s definitely not old enough to be one of those people who say “back in my day.” She could, but it would be ridiculous.

 

“I’ll put up something tomorrow,” Killian yawns, flexing his hand out until it lands on her thigh, thumb running back and forth, and even though it’s over her dress, she can still feel the heat of it. “I’d do it tonight, but I need to do all of the links and I’m – ”

 

When he’s struck by another yawn, she answers for him, “ – tired. You’re tired.”

 

“Aye, love, that I am.”

 

“And here I was shaving my legs so that you wouldn’t have to deal with my winter coat since I know my dolphin legs are much nicer.”

 

“Nah, like I said, I’m a fan of every part of you, hairy legs and all.”

 

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

 

“If I recall, the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you was buying your toothbrush replacements heads, and now the most romantic thing anyone has ever said is saying they like you even when you grow your fur coat. No offense, sweetheart, but I feel like I’m doing better than that in the romance department.”

 

“Ah, I don’t know,” she sighs, placing her hand over his and interlocking their fingers, making sure to rest her wrist on top even if it should be the other way around for how they’re sitting, “I’m a simple girl. I like dental hygiene but not personal hygiene, so you being accepting of that is really like a dream come true for me.”

 

“You know, I’ve been told that I was dreamy, but a dream come true, that’s a new one.”

 

She digs her nail into his flesh before she brings their hands to her lips, slanting her lips over Killian’s knuckles to soothe the ache.

 

“Alright, Cassanova, let’s dial it down a bit. Don’t want to use up all of your romance tonight. You might want to save some for the morning.”

 

She has every intention of getting back to their apartment and stripping Killian out of his clothes so that she can slowly ride him into momentary oblivion, but once they get into their bedroom, the exhaustion hits her. So she says maybe in the morning as she strips out of her dress, leaving it on the floor while she pulls pajamas back on. They’re plaid and very Christmas-y, and she’s pretty sure the matching set makes her look like a little kid in a movie in the forties, but with the warmth they provide, she doesn’t care. It’s nearly painful to take all of her makeup and take her hair down as well as brushing her teeth, but she and Killian slowly get through it, grumbling side by side as they run through their routines.

 

They’re in a rhythm, the two of them, even when it’s slightly off course, and only a few minutes after their heads hit their pillows, they’re both out, Killian’s steady breathing matching up with the slow, calm beat of her heart.

 

When she wakes the next morning it’s to the softest of lips brushing against the skin of her face. She doesn’t bother opening her eyes to look. She knows the feel of Killian’s mouth and his beard almost like she’s known it for her entire life, but after she feels him kiss her nose, she decides to face the world and let the light filter in.

 

Only there is no light. It’s still dark outside, the moon shining through the window the slightest bit, but she can easily see Killian’s face as he smiles down at her, his lips pressed together in affection while his eyes crinkle. He’s been doing a lot of that lately, all different forms, but this one is different.

 

“Why are you hovering over me like that? Are you going to murder me?”

 

“If I wanted to murder you, love, I would have done it while you were asleep.”

 

“Yeah, so I’ll be sleeping in the guest room with the door locked now.”

 

He laughs, something deep and low, before his thumb swipes against her cheek, the soft smile turning into something a little brighter. Mostly, though, she’s focusing on the crinkles around his eyes. She loves those a lot. She can’t think it enough. “So last night you told me to save some of my romance for this morning.”

 

“I recall, but I’m not sure I’m ready for sex quite yet. The sun isn’t even up.”

 

“Darling, I really and truly appreciate all of these wonderful words that you’re spewing because they make what I’m about to say next even better.”

 

And somehow, without any clue other than the way that Killian is looking at her, she knows exactly what he’s about to ask her while she’s got bedhead, morning breath, and is in these matching flannel pajamas.

 

(They’re actually really cute pajamas.)

 

“Emma, my love, will you marry me?”


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

Killian had a plan. He had a plan even though it took awhile to come up with it. He was going to take Emma out to dinner, and then they’d come back to the apartment and walk out onto their balcony with all of the white bulb lights lit over the trellis, the gentle crest and flow of the ocean illuminated in the background. It’s what he had decided on a few days ago, and he’s been working on perfecting it so that he could ask her in a week and a half.

 

Liam was right.

 

This was never going to go to plan.

 

When has his life ever?

 

(He’s definitely not telling Liam that he was right.)

 

He was going to wait until next week, but then last night happened. Last night he went to the gala with Emma, the place where they met, and he watched as she effortlessly helped to set up and then spent the evening saying all the right words to all the right people to raise money for the shelter and for children who have had a rough life and who deserve better than the cards they’ve been dealt. He knows that she hates it, that she wishes their method of raising money was something different than an elegant event, but she is so damn good at her job and at making the best of everything.

 

It had been a good night, one he really enjoyed even if he was tired by the end of the night, and when he woke up this morning, in the middle of the morning really, every inch of his skin was covered in goosebumps. Somehow, he knew that he couldn’t wait any longer to ask.

 

Three o’clock in the morning is exactly the time to ask the woman he loves to marry him.

 

Especially when his girlfriend is a bit rough to try to wake up, and that’s at a normal time.

 

Not this early. He’s a bloody genius.

 

“What?” Emma laughs, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair while her right hand moves up and down his bicep, almost like she doesn’t realize what she’s doing as she moves her hand over the curves of his muscles. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted, but there’s the slightest bit of smile there.

 

“I realize it’s early, that you’re likely a bit hazy, so I’ll say it again. Emma, my love, will you marry me?”

 

Her mouth finally closes, lips pressing together, but then they’re pressing up into a full smile that has her eyes crinkling. His heart could literally break through his ribcage and out of his chest right now. There’s no way his heart can beat more quickly than this.

 

God, he really needs her to say yes.

 

She scratches at his scalp, and he can feel the pleasurable sensation inch down his spine even as his arms ache the slightest bit from propping himself up over Emma.

 

“Would you absolutely hate me if I said that sounds like a plan, Stan, instead of simply saying yes?”

 

“I think I could get over it.”

 

“Yes, Killian,” Emma whispers, squeezing his arm and pulling him closer so that his nose presses into her cheek, her lips ghosting over his at the same time that her breath does. “Yes, yes, yes.”

 

He was wrong earlier. His heart can beat more quickly.

 

_She said yes._

 

He has more to say, more that he needs to say, but Emma doesn’t give him a chance before her lips are harshly crashing into his, their teeth briefly clanking together before they get back into the rhythm that they’re so damn used to.

 

The one they’ve pretty much perfected.

 

It’s slow, languid, and when Emma nips at his bottom lip in an attempt to get him to move at a quicker pace, he doesn’t let her. Instead he slows things down, very gently gliding his lips over hers and taking his time so that they can savor this moment, savor the slight magic that comes from the intimacy of the darkness of their bedroom in the early morning moonlight. His eyes are closed, so he can’t see Emma. And even if he were to open them, he couldn’t see much of her, just a mixture of shadow and light, the occasional glimpse of her eyes if he’s close enough.

 

But it is enough.

 

Heat simmers beneath his skin when Emma hooks her arms under his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh through his t-shit. The heat simmers and simmers, pleasure tickling its way throughout his body, his spine tingling while he feels his arousal growing as it slightly presses into Emma’s thigh, their bodies barely moving and yet somehow moving together.

 

“So you’re going to marry me?” he wonders aloud when he pulls back for air, only allowing himself a little before he’s nipping at the juncture of her neck and jaw, her skin deliciously sweet, if not a little salty. It doesn’t matter. He craves it all.

 

“I mean, you’re okay, and I guess I kind of love you. So it’s sounding like a really good idea. Though I do think you’re going to have to not wake me up this early ever again. I want that written down somewhere.”

 

He pulls back to look at her after biting at her skin one more time, causing Emma to elicit this little groan that he thinks he has memorized by now. He rather enjoys the noises she makes, and he’d like to hear them for a long time.

 

Indefinitely.

 

But right now he wants to memorize this, memorize her. He wants to be able to commit to memory the affection in Emma’s eyes, the bright green that he can see in the darkness of the room. He wants to memorize the way half of her hair is matted underneath her head, the way the rest of it lays across the pillows in as many directions as it possibly can. He also wants to memorize the redness of her lips, the flush in her cheeks.

 

He wants to memorize her face under the moonlight when he’s not entirely sure that she didn’t hang the moon herself.

 

He realizes how entirely sentimental that is, how painstakingly affectionate, but if there were ever a time for that, it’d be this morning. He did just get engaged, after all.

 

He wants to memorize the way that Emma looks at him, like she thinks he might have been the one to hang the moon himself.

 

This isn’t the first time he’s seen it, and it won’t be the last, but that doesn’t do anything to keep his heart from swelling, the beat uncomfortably fast like before. His ribcage might very well be bruised later.

 

“What?” Emma asks, tapping her fingers against his back. He likes when she does that too.

 

“Nothing. I’m simply admiring your beauty. I like the freckles on your nose.”

 

“That’s good since they’re kind of attached to my face.”

 

He chuckles, his chest vibrating, before he’s dipping his head back down, their bodies flush together, and kissing her with every feeling that he has possibly ever felt for her. It’s a lot, more than he can truly think about. He loves her more than anything in the world. He loves her so damn much that it’s overwhelming sometimes, and he’d feel alone in it if he didn’t know that Emma felt the same way too, if he didn’t know that he has this partner in life.

 

It’s all a bit of a blur for the next few minutes, hungry mouths and tongues exploring and moving together as even more desperate hands fumble with clothes until they’re bare together, hot flesh pressing together as cool air swirls around them. He knows that Emma’s in a hurry, that she wants and needs and is desperate for things to move along, but then he’s burying his head between her thighs, nipping and kissing at slick flesh in a way that has every word at the tip of her tongue disappearing into gasps and moans. It has her curling her hand into his hair while the other curls into the sheet, a grip so strong that it brings him the slightest bit of pain as she arches her hips up into him.

 

“I love you,” he murmurs against her skin after she falls apart beneath him, her legs trembling. He makes sure to rub his beard into her skin as he explores her some more, trying to cover every inch of her until he’s back at her lips, quickly guiding her upper lip between his.

 

“I love you,” she gasps into his mouth. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

 

And just like before, despite him wanting to memorize every single moment of this, it’s all happens quickly. He’s pushing inside of her, her walls slick and warm and wet around him, and it feels so right that he has to choke back the gulp in his throat. He chokes it back and kisses her again, slowly rocking inside of her while her legs wrap around his arse, her hips rocking up into his, and her thighs pressed tightly around his hips. She gasps, her breath escaping her, and he takes the time to tell her just how beautiful she is, just how wonderful.

 

They stay moving in tandem, his thrusts never speeding up too much, but he can tell that when he pushes in deeper, when he stays for longer, that it’s driving Emma into madness, her pleasure somehow radiating off of her skin as a slow heat that creeps onto his. They’re connected as intimately as they can be, and when his thumb finds the slick flesh where they’re joined, Emma falls so swiftly that it shocks him. It doesn’t shock him at all that with a few more rolls of his hips, he can feel gooseflesh on his skin, sweat at his forehead, and the pleasure that’s consuming him throughout every damn inch of his body.

 

Emma curls into him afterward, her arms wrapping around his waist while her head rests on his chest, cheek pressed into the sweaty hair and into his heart beating beneath the skin.

 

“Does this mean I can’t call you my lover anymore now that you have a new name? I mean, technically we only used lover when I wasn’t sure if I should call you my boyfriend, and now you’re...not my boyfriend.”

 

He barks out a laugh, his chest moving up and down so furiously that he feels like he can’t breathe. Maybe he can’t. Maybe he actually can’t breathe. She’s so damn funny that sometimes he can’t believe it.

 

“You can still call me your lover, Swan,” he promises, reaching over to her to grab her wrist, bringing it to his lips even if it’s her right wrist and not her left. “We’ve come so far since that phone conversation where we didn’t know what to call each other.”

 

“Technically you came three thousand miles, so that is indeed pretty damn far.”

 

He twists his head to the side, his cheek smooshing into the pillow, but he doesn’t care. All he wants is to be able to see Emma, to see the smile on her face as his thumb rubs up and down on her wrist. He has to release her wrist to cup her cheek, his thumb resting in the dip of her chin to nudge her up to look at him.

 

“You are exceptionally sentimental, my love.”

 

She scoots a bit closer, as if that’s possible, the mattress moving under them the slightest bit, and her eyes brim with happiness, the smallest layer of water covering the irises. It makes the green brighter, lighter somehow, and he loves when her eyes are like that. Not necessarily that she’s crying, unless it’s the good kind.

 

He was so broken for such a long time, so turned off of love, so turned off of trusting people he didn’t know. He’d been abandoned and taken advantage of, and then he met Emma and a flip switched. It shouldn’t have been that easy, and at the end of the day, if he really thinks about it, it wasn’t. It wasn’t easy. It was goddamn difficult falling for her. He had to have hope that things wouldn’t blow up in his face, that Emma wouldn’t betray him. The way they met is still so ridiculous, and it had every warning sign to try to tell him that this wasn’t a good idea…but it might very well be the best idea he’s ever had.

 

He met Emma, and even though he screwed up quite a few times, even if Emma did the same, they both took that leap of faith and hoped that there would be a soft landing instead of jagged rocks that would open up old scars and leave fresh ones.

 

Laying on this mattress in their apartment with the woman he is going to marry feels like a pretty soft landing.

 

“It must be the lack of sleep. I’m not thinking clearly. I mean, why else would I have accepted your proposal when the sun hasn’t even risen?”

 

“Oh shit,” he gasps, pushing Emma off of him and scrambling up off the bed, grabbing his pajama pants and pulling them on. They need to clean themselves up, but he’s not really too concerned about that right now.

 

“Um, KJ? What’s happening?”

 

“I have a ring,” he mumbles, twisting back to look at her to flash her a smile, trying to ease the worries that he knows that she’s feeling. “I actually had this whole big plan,” he explains, walking into the bathroom and speaking a bit louder so that Emma can hear him. “We were going to go to dinner, just a casual one, and then I was going to take you out of the balcony with all of the lights. I was thinking about somehow getting a camera set up, you know, besides the security cameras. It was this whole thing and I – ”

 

“This has been perfect,” Emma sighs, coming into the bathroom in just the shirt of her pajamas, most of the buttons still undone. “I think it’s very us.” She presses up onto her toes and kisses his cheek before leaning back against the counter. “Though I am curious as to where you’ve been hiding this ring.”

 

He winks at her, the grin on his face so wide that it’s almost painful, but he doesn’t care. “On the top shelf behind my shaving cream because you can’t reach there.” He opens the cabinet and shuffles around a few bottles before grabbing the black box, the velvet soothing under his fingertips.

 

“Do I need to ask you again or can I just toss this box at you?”

 

She throws her head back in laughter, hair cascading down her back, before she’s leaning forward to softly smile at him. “Whatever you want to do, babe, I’m game. Though I’m not sure I want you to hurt your knees by getting down on the tile.”

 

He can’t help but scoff at that, his eyes rolling the slightest bit as he steps forward and settles between her legs, letting her squeeze him in. “I think I just proved to you that I am a young, agile man.”

 

Her hands reach up to cup his face, holding his gaze directly to hers. “I think that the floor would hurt anyone’s knees.”

 

He nods and turns his head to the side, brushing his lips against her wrist, the left one this time, as many times as he can until he’s reaching up and pulling that hand away from his face, caressing her knuckle with his thumb, but paying particular attention to the emptiness of her ring finger.

 

It doesn’t stay empty long, though. He quickly opens the box and pulls the ring out, admiring the shine of it for a moment until he’s sliding it onto Emma’s finger. He thought his hands might tremble, and while they do a little, it’s nothing compared to how he imagined this would be. None of it is.

 

He likes this version better.

 

“KJ,” Emma whispers, and he looks away from how right the ring looks on her to actually look at her and the stray tear that’s falling down her cheek. He’d wipe it off, but his hand can’t stop touching hers, can’t stop touching the ring while the other rests on her hip and feels the skin of her stomach. “I love you. Like, a crazy amount.”

 

“I love you that way too.”

 

Emma finally looks down at the ring then, moving her hand out of his grasp to hold it up in front of her, resting her palm on his chest. “This is beautiful, by the way. Did Elsa help you with this? Ruby?”

 

“David.”

  
  
“What?” she laughs, hitting against his chest for a moment while he leans down to nip at her collarbone, the skin exposed too much for him not to. “David helped?”

 

“Aye, Dave and Liam are the only ones who know. I figured the others would tell you. Plus, their reactions will likely be priceless.”

 

“Mary Margaret and Ruby are going to flip. Oh God, Anna…Anna may lose her mind. I think Elsa may just smile knowingly.”

 

“That’s exactly what will happen,” he speaks into her skin before pulling back. “We could tell the Nolans today when they come over for lunch. Or we could tell them all at once.”

 

Emma hums before she wraps her arms around his neck, fingers playing with the hair there. “I think I want to keep it to just us for a little while, keep it private. And then we should tell everyone on Christmas Eve so my family and yours can all know at the same time.”

 

She leans forward and kisses his cheek and then his nose, finally briefly landing on his lips.

 

“I like the way you think, love.”

 

“Good. Now let’s go back to bed because you proposed to me before four in the morning, and I am not a fan of the phrase about the early bird getting the worm.”

 

“Technically you’re the early swan who got the ring.”

 

“Yep, you need to go back to bed. That’s bad even for you.”

 

He’s not sure if they ever actually fall back asleep. There’s a valiant effort made. He’s sure of that. For at least half an hour the room is silent with the steady hum of the ceiling fan and the heater, the most subtle of sounds coming from the street outside. But his mind never stops racing, his heart never calms enough to soothe him into slumber, and he twists over on his back, throwing his arm out and hitting Emma in the face. He knew that she was there. How could he forget? His body is half pressed into hers, but sometimes sharing a bed, no matter how large, can be a bit of a disaster.

 

Emma grumbles, curses him out a little bit for almost taking an eye out, but all he does is lazily roll over, tugging her with him so that her back is pressed into his front, his arms wrapped around her while Emma’s leg tucks in between his thighs.

 

But that doesn’t really last either.

 

They fall into each other again, the emotions and adrenaline and excitement all outweighing any kind of sleep they may need. Or maybe it’s that the need for each other that drives them together as he drives into her with more focused thrusts than the first time, the world outside lightening the slightest bit as daylight threatens to break soon.

 

So in a way it’s a lazy morning, but with the sweat that’s beading at his brow, the pleasure tingling at his spine, he also knows that lazy would not be how he describes this.

 

But it would be how he describes them eventually getting out of bed and hopping into the shower, the water only washing over him for long enough to get the sweat off of his body. Emma takes longer. There’s still hairspray in her hair from last night, still the faintest bits of makeup remaining on her skin, and while she works through her hair with her shampoo, he steps out into the bathroom and quickly dries himself off before he steps into a pair of sweatpants and a henley, his feet covered in thick socks. Their apartment is plenty warm with the heat, but the floor still get cold.

 

Coffee calls to him more than it ever has, especially with the slight pounding in his left temple, so instead of getting back in bed and turning on the television like he planned, he makes his way down the hall and into the kitchen, turning on the coffee pot and letting it percolate while he looks at the colorful glow of their Christmas tree, the lights reflecting in all of the windows so that the dimness of the room is covered in red, green, pink, and yellow dots. It’s a weird combination, especially with the black of the sky slowly fading away to show a glimpse of orange sun, but it also works in this semi state of haziness he and Emma seem to be in this morning.

 

He can’t believe that he proposed.

 

He can’t believe that she said yes.

 

When the machine beeps, he pours himself a cup, letting it cool a bit as he grabs Emma’s swan mug out of the cabinet and fills it with coffee and her creamer. She usually only takes it out when she’s going to work, but he has a feeling that she’s going to need a little larger dose than usual with their late night and early morning.

 

“I can feel the tiredness in my eyeballs,” Emma groans as she comes into view, her hair falling off to the side while she towel dries it, her curls bunching together. She’s back in her flannel pajamas. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get her out of them.

 

Well, that’s not true.

 

He already did that this morning.

 

“I made coffee.”

 

“Trust me, I know,” she sighs, closing the few steps between them and picking her mug up off of the countertop. “I don’t think I would have left our room had I not gotten the faintest whiff of it.”

 

“You’re like a dog.”

 

She shrugs, her mug to her lips so that he can’t see her smile. “Everybody loves a good dog, though I’m not too sure about you calling me one. I feel like that can very easily go bad.”

 

“Eh, maybe. But only if I say it like Randy Jackson.”

 

“I’d like to see you try.”

 

“Not happening,” he laughs as he takes another sip of his coffee and leans back so that the edge of the marble digs into his lower back. “It’s far too early. Do you want some breakfast?”

 

“He says he wants to marry me, spend the rest of his life loving me, and yet he doesn’t know that the answer is always going to be yes when he asks me if I want food. Shameful.”

 

“Who are you talking to?”

 

“It’s that whole third person thing.” She waves her hand, somehow encompassing whatever it is she’s talking about. “I literally don’t even know. It’s a narration style or whatever. What do you want to eat? Some oatmeal?”

 

“I was kind of thinking we make a big spread. We can feed it to the Mary Margaret and Dave when they come over late too since I wasn’t sure what we were going to feed them.”

 

“You’re a smart man.”

 

He winks. “I know.”

 

It takes some time to figure out exactly what they want to make, the two of them arguing over sweet and savory, but after twenty minutes, they finally decide on both. They’ll have enough food to feed an army, but that’s okay today. He thinks if there’s any day where they can do this, it’s today.

 

He doesn’t intend on making one of his mum’s recipes, even if he has most of them categorized in his memory, but when he realizes that he has the ingredients for her blueberry lemon rolls, he decides that’s what he wants to make even if they’re a bit of a process.

 

“So they’re like cinnamon rolls but without the cinnamon and icing?”

 

“They have icing, love,” he explains while he rolls out the dough, Emma sitting on the countertop next to him peeling apples. “It’s simply lemon flavored. You’ll like them a lot. It’s one of Mum’s recipes.”

 

“Did she bake a lot? Your favorite birthday cake is one of hers too, and I feel like you’re always pulling these recipes out of your head.”

 

“Actor, remember?” he points out, looking up at her and flashing a grin. “I remember a lot of things. But yeah, I don’t have a ton of memories of her, but I do have a lot of her baking and of her cooking. She’s got a handwritten cookbook that Liam keeps at his house, and after she passed, it was a great way to try to feel connected to her, especially when Liam and I were separated for bits of time. I couldn’t cook in my house, but Liam could, and when we got to visit each other, he’d bring me some of her food.”

 

Sharing that little piece of information is not something that he thinks about much. When it comes to Emma, there’s not much that he doesn’t share, so when he looks up at her, he’s shocked by the few stray tears that are marking her cheeks.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, putting the dough down and side stepping to Emma, moving in between her thighs and wiping the tears away, leaving the smallest amount of flour on her face, “what’s up, Swan?”

 

“It’s nothing,” she sniffles, her lips curling up into a watery smile while her brows furrow together, the lines on her forehead increasing like they do when she thinks. “I mean, it’s not nothing,” she further explains, putting down her apples and wrapping her arms around his neck while she widens her thighs to allow him to move a little closer. “I don’t know. I’m not sure why it’s making me emotional now, but then I think about you and your mom and Liam, and how much you all loved each other. It’s not fair that you were all taken from each other in some way. It’s not fair that we both had such shitty childhoods.”

 

“It’s not, but it’s okay. I wish Mum were still alive, but things have turned out okay, yeah?” He keeps rubbing her cheeks, smearing the flour a bit more, until he lets his hands fall to her to her hips. “She’d have loved you, probably more than she loved me.”

 

“That is not true.”

 

“Oh no, it is. She was always yelling at me for getting into some kind of mess or trouble, possibly for saying a few curses at far too young of an age. I’ve always had a bit of a sailor’s mouth, you know. And Mum was not charmed by it. You, however, would be her favorite person, likely on up there with Elsa.”

 

“Yeah? Not you and Liam?”

 

“God, no. We’re not nearly well mannered enough.”

 

“Sometimes you can be a gentleman.”

 

“I’ve said it before, sweetheart, and I’ll say it again. I’m _always_   a gentleman.”

 

“Sure,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes a little bit and leaning forward so he can feel her lay her mouth just on the corner of his lips, a touch so light he can barely feel it. Somehow, he still feels her everywhere, though. “And while I fully support the idea of your mom loving Elsa and me more, I know she’d love you and Liam the most. You’re her boys, and I can tell how much she loved you by looking at the pretty smile on your face when you talk about her.”

 

This woman is his entire life.

 

He knows that’s not true, that he has a completely fulfilling life without her, but she’s his closest friend. She’s his love, and there’s no one else he’d rather be having these conversations with as the sun finally officially rises into the sky.

 

“Thanks, love,” he whispers. “I do mean it when I say she would have loved you. She’d get herself all in a tizzy trying to impress you and talk to you about the wedding or about anything. I think she’d likely get into some spirited arguments with you as well.”

 

“To be fair, everyone gets into spirited arguments with me. So a wedding, huh?”

 

“Well, you do have that sparkly ring on your finger.”

 

She presses her hand into his neck so that he can feel the cool metal. “I do. I don’t think I’m ready to start thinking or planning or do anything like that yet. I’ve imagined our future and all that, but I don’t think I ever could have imagined this life and everything that’s happening. I want to take some time in the calmness of it all to appreciate it. I kind of like living life with you how it is.”

 

“Me too.”

 

They do eventually get back to making breakfast (he may or may not spend a few minutes to taste the coffee on Emma’s tongue and leave her chin marked with beard burn from the way they’re pushed together), and Emma allows him to tell stories of his memorizes as a kid, even if she’s already heard most of them. He does the same to her, though Emma’s happy memories aren’t as numerous, but he’s finding that while no, having a good life now doesn’t get rid of the hurt in the past, it does help to be able to process it.

 

Having a partner who can help him process his emotions is even better.

 

“These are so damn good,” Emma moans, the sound far too sensual for her to be eating food because no one really moans sexually when eating, as she eats a lemon roll. “I’ll up how many times I go to the gym if you keep making these.”

 

“That can be arranged.” He taps the countertop next to her, getting her to turn her head so that her curls bounce around. “Do you want to change before they come over or are we going to stay in our pajamas?”

 

“Pajamas, definitely, though you need to change into some thicker pants while I need to hide this ring away before we blow our cover in thirty seconds.”

 

“It’s so sexy sneaking around with you like this.”

 

“Shut up,” she laughs, hopping up from the stool and walking back toward their bedroom while he follows after her to change his pants.

 

There’s a buzz to be let into the building not fifteen minutes later, and he quickly hits the button on his phone after he sees David and Mary Margaret’s faces under their beanies. He takes a screenshot of a particularly attractive face Dave makes, and no one has to know about that until it’s covering all of their wrapping paper for the gifts under the tree.

 

He’s not going to do that this year, but he might try for next year.

 

“Hi,” Emma greets when she opens the door, letting David push Brody’s stroller inside while Mary Margaret attempts to hold onto Leo, only to let him go so that he can run into their apartment like he does every time he’s here, running right to the windows that look out into the ocean and pressing his hands up against the glass, leaving little fingerprints that seem impossible to clean up.

 

“Sorry about him,” David sighs, quickly brushing his lips against Emma’s cheek before coming over to him and wrapping his arms around him in a quick hug.

 

“Daddy, look at the water,” Leo yells, his face now squished into glass completely so that his already mumbled words are even more jumbled. “It’s blue.”

 

“It is blue,” David agrees, walking over to Leo while Killian walks toward Mary Margaret, hugging her all the while Emma gets Brody out of his stroller and blows a raspberry into his cheek, his little laugh nearly infectious. Emma’s even more so.

 

“Hello, love.”

 

“Hey. Why didn’t you guys send us the memo about getting to stay in our pajamas? If I had known that there was no way I would have squeezed into these jeans.”

 

“Because I personally think that we should all wear pajamas all the time. Who needs constricting jeans when you have elastic?”

 

“I like the way you think,” Mary Margaret laughs. “It smells so good in here. What is that?”

 

“Breakfast.”

 

“Isn’t it a little late for breakfast?” David ponders as he lifts Leo up so that his fingerprints can reach more of the window. “I thought we were here for lunch.”

 

“Your daddy is so pretentious,” Emma giggles to Leo, holding him to her shoulder while she walks him around the room, pointing out all of the bright lights of the Christmas decorations. “He thinks that breakfast can only be eaten in the mornings, which really sucks for you because you’ll have to grow up in a house where you can’t eat a pancake at three in the afternoon.”

 

“Who eats one pancake, Ems?”

 

“Weird people. And Brody when he’s sneaking one in because his dad is the breakfast dictator.”

 

“To be fair, his mum is also going to force him into wearing tight pants all the time.”

 

“You make us brave the winter,” Mary Margaret begins, plopping herself down in an arm chair and crossing her legs while he takes the few steps into the kitchen to start getting food out of the warmer, “invite us into your home, and then try to turn our children against us.”

 

“I mean, that’s what we’re for, right?” Emma shrugs. “Leo, am I cooler than your mommy and daddy?”

 

“Yep. Emmy look.”

 

“I know, kid. It’s so pretty.”

 

He has far too many thoughts about how Emma is with Leo and Brody, how she is with Aiden, and how she is with any kid they come across, but now isn’t the time. They’ve talked about it, talked about how it’s something they both want, but it’s always been a someday. They have so much time in front of them and only a little behind them, and like everything, he knows that they’ll let things come naturally.

 

Besides, they’ve been engaged for approximately nine hours and are hiding it from their families right now. They can take their time. They’ve got all of it.

 

“Alright,” he claps, placing the plate of scrambled eggs on the island, “who wants to eat?”

 

Despite complaining about them serving breakfast, David gets seconds…and thirds. David practically eats all of their breakfast, but he bites his tongue to keep from making at least half of the jabs that he thinks of making. It helps that Emma’s hand is resting on his thigh and Leo is sitting in his lap babbling about his food and his dad and the ocean that he can still see outside. He doesn’t blame the kid. It’s a damn good view.

 

It’s also a good afternoon even though he can feel his headache coming back, the coffee only doing so much now that the afternoon is waning on. He has a feeling that he and Emma are definitely going to have to close the curtains later and take a nap, possibly sleeping into tomorrow. He doesn’t have work in the morning, but Emma does.

 

There’s going to be some complaining tomorrow.

 

Totally worth it.

 

“Something funny there, Jones?” David prods, looking at him with his brow raised and his mouth ticking up into a smirk.

 

“No?” he questions, shrugging his shoulder.

 

“Why do you look like the cat ate the canary?”

 

“He isn’t a cat,” Leo giggles, and he hears Emma snort in her chair next to him while her fingers squeeze his thigh, which is both an evil move and one he wants her to keep doing.

 

“You’re right, I’m not a cat, bud,” he agrees, adjusting Leo in his lap while the kid eats some more his eggs. “And I guess I didn’t realize I was smiling. Maybe I’m simply glad to get to look at your face.”

 

“I like looking at your face too, sweetie,” Mary Margaret agrees, and Emma barks out a laugh so loud that their neighbors can likely hear it. “What? What did I say?”

 

“You were s-so not supposed to be serious right there,” Emma laughs, her chest heaving up and down while she swipes her fingers under her eyes. “Killian was kidding.”

 

“Oh, no I wasn’t, love,” he promises, resting his arm on the back of her chair. “I really do like looking at David’s face. It’s a handsome face.”

 

“Thank you, sweet pea,” David gushes, blowing an exaggerated kiss over in his direction.

 

“No problem, sweetie pie.”

 

“Why do I feel like this isn’t the first time they’ve called each other those names?” Mary Margaret questions as she rocks Brody in his seat while he sleeps.

 

“Because it isn’t. They’re very odd men.”

 

“You say that as if it’s an insult, love.”

 

“I meant it as – ” Emma’s mouth opens up into yawn, her hands not quick enough to cover her mouth, “ – an insult.”

 

“Why are you both exhausted?” Mary Margaret asks, and he can feel both David and Emma’s eyes on him.

 

It’s been exceptionally easy to not tell the two of them that he and Emma got engaged this morning, but he can tell that David is starting to get a little suspicious. Maybe he isn’t suspicious that he’s already asked Emma, but he can definitely tell that he’s eyeing him a little bit.

 

He should not have been grinning like a goofy idiot earlier. He should definitely be able to control his emotions better than that.

 

“Well, Mary Margaret,” he begins, taking a deep breath and waggling his brows across his forehead, “you should know this because you’ve procreated, but Emma and I are rather fond of enjoyable adult activities in the mornings.”

 

“Me too,” Leo squeals, clapping his hands together.

 

“Oh no, kid,” Emma laughs, barely able to contain herself while she talks. She’s doing better than everyone else, though. He’s not entirely sure that he can breathe right now. “You like kid activities, I promise.”

 

“I can’t believe you two are corrupting my child like this,” David chuckles, his breath coming out in hiccups.

 

“Leo, am I corrupting you?”

 

Leo shrugs his little shoulders and reaches forward for more eggs, spilling some down his shirt. “Chickens have babies in eggs instead of in tummies.”

 

“And you guys act like he doesn’t already know about adult activities.”


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

_Killian: My family is all here and currently examining every square foot of the place._

_Emma: I know you’re not complaining when this is all you’ve talked about all week._

_Killian: I love them, but Anna is seriously asking me about the thread count on our sheets._

_Emma: That’s important._

_Killian: I’m going to leave you with them if you don’t start sympathizing with me._

_Emma: Oh no! You’re going to leave me with two people who I talk to every day and your brother! However will I survive?_

_Killian: Kris and Aiden are also part of the package._

_Emma: I like them too._

 

“Are you flirting with your boyfriend, Ems?”

 

“Holy shit,” she yelps, jumping in her chair while her heart takes off like a rocket. She’s got to start closing her office door or put a lock on it or something. Or Ruby needs to learn how to knock. Or stay in her office. This is becoming a perpetual issue. “Rubes, why do you insist on doing this to me?”

 

She shrugs, the picture of nonchalance, and then steps further inside, grabs some skittles out of the bowl on her desk, and then plops down in her extra chair.

 

“Because your face is so pretty when you’re scared.”

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

“I’m your idiot, though.” She pops a handful of candy in her mouth, the red and green disappearing while she quickly chews. “Are you coming down to the warehouse to help put the care packages together this afternoon?”

 

“I’m coming down at four.” She hits send on her email and leans forward to take a few skittles of her own. Keeping candy in her office for the holidays was a terrible idea, but Mary Margaret and Anna both sent her bags of the stuff because they thought it might be nice. “This is always my craziest time of year with all of the donations and press, but, you know, I’ve been working through lunch so that I can leave at a normal time.”

 

“It’d probably help if you didn’t spend half of your time flirting with your boyfriend and the other half talking to me.”

 

“Well, you’re the one who comes to my office.”

 

Ruby waggles her brows. “For the candy. Is the Jones clan in town?”

 

“And apparently inspecting the thread count in our sheets.”

 

“What?”

 

“They’re particular,” she laughs, checking the email that just came in. She really needs the graphics department to send her the designs she’s supposed to put on Instagram. “I think Killian is letting them explore the apartment and setting them up, and then he’s going to show them around a bit.”

 

“That’s like the blind leading the blind.”

 

“I mean, it’s not us giving a tour of Boston, but it’ll work. I can’t wait for them to come back in the summer so it’ll be nicer weather.”

 

“You haven’t even seen them yet, and you’re already ready for them to come back?”

 

“Ask me again after Christmas. Speaking of that,” she hums, as she types another email when really she needs to go talk to Liz to get things going, “is Dorothy coming over on Christmas Eve?”

 

“Nah,” Ruby sighs, sticking her feet up on the corner of Emma’s desk, “she’s going home to Kansas for a few days.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine. I can’t wait to meet everyone, even if Killian’s infamous friends won’t be there.”

 

“Just his shoddy family.”

 

“I’m going to tell them you said that.”

 

“They love me. I think it’ll be fine.”

 

Her phone vibrates on her desk, and she looks down to check it.

 

_Elsa: Does Killian actually know where he’s going? Or are we going to get lost and freeze to death?_

 

_Emma: I’d bring a warm coat and some food._

She does eventually have to get back to work, as does Ruby, and even if she spends most of her afternoon bugging the graphic designs department even while she’s putting blankets and toothbrushes in care packages, it’s a good day at work. She seriously needs a nap, but she knows that she’s not going to get one. The rest of her week is jampacked with work and with family stuff. They’ve got five extra people staying at their apartment until next Thursday, and about a million things to do with them and with her friends. It’s odd to her that these two sides of her life that are so important to her have never met, but she’s glad that it’s changing now.

 

Will and Robin get the short end of the stick though. They’ll have to meet everyone later, but she and Killian weren’t going to ask them to come to Boston when they have their families to spend time with. That would be ridiculous.

 

(She really wants to see Ruby and Will meet. It’d be fantastic.)

 

On her way home from work she stops to get a frankly excessive amount burgers and fries for everyone to eat for dinner. It’s definitely not the healthiest thing in the world and she and Killian did stock up on groceries yesterday, but sometimes she really wants a dang cheeseburger.

 

And onion rings.

 

She’s going to have to hide the onion rings from Killian.

 

That’s not going to work.

 

She’ll just get extra.

 

She can hear everybody before she unlocks the front door, twisting the key and then the knob, the conversation inside dying a little bit as she steps through the door to see everyone sitting in the living room with a show that must be for Aiden on the TV. She recognizes the little characters, but she can’t quite place whatever animated dog is running around.

 

“Hi,” she says, placing everything down on the counter that’s already full of baked goods that Anna must have found time to make sometime today. “I, uh, brought burgers for dinner, so I hope that Killian didn’t force feed you guys too much today.”

 

“He force fed us just the right amount,” Elsa sighs, getting up from the couch and scurrying over to her and wrapping her arms around her shoulders before Emma can even take her purse off of her. “Hi, hon. I’m so happy to see you.”

 

“Me too,” she echoes, pulling back and smiling. “It’s weird that you guys are here, but I like it.”

 

“Not as much as I like it,” Anna adds on, practically smothering her in a hug. “It’s amazing, even if it’s cold. I was not prepared for that, and Killian practically froze us to death. I cannot wait to come back in the summer. I bet we could go sailing. Though Killian would have to bring his boat here. Or buy another one. Or we could go to a baseball game, but I’m not wearing a Red Sox hat. Oh but I can visit you so much more now that I’m going to be in New York.”

 

“That all sounds like a wonderful plan,” she laughs, not even sure if Anna took a breath between all of her words. “Hi, Liam and Kris. Why don’t you guys come get something to eat before it gets cold? I got regular burgers and cheeseburgers and figured you guys could add your own toppings.”

 

Liam and Kris both nod their heads, moving from the living room to kiss her cheek and give her their own greetings all while paper bags are being rustled and food being spread out, the greasy smell taking over the cinnamon plug in that they have. She needs to change clothes and brush her hair out before she eats, but she should probably say hi to Killian if the expectant eyebrow he’s sporting is any indication.

 

“I could have cooked dinner,” he says first, opening his arms a bit so that she can gently loswer herself down onto his lap, adjusting herself before kissing his cheek in greeting. “You didn’t have to buy all of the burgers in Boston.”

 

“I really wanted a burger. I worked through lunch.”

 

“The graphic design people giving you trouble again?”

 

“Yep. I’m going to have to learn how to do photoshop myself or something.” She unwraps her arms from his neck and curls a stray section of his chest hair around her finger, wondering how the hell it escaped from the top of his sweater. “So you survived your hosting duties?”

 

“I did.”

 

“Do you guys have horse radish?”

 

“No because that’s disgusting,” she laughs, looking up to see the actual pout on Kris’s face.

 

“Top shelf,” Killian adds in. “I keep it where Emma can’t reach to throw it away.”

 

“Hey,” she scoffs, yanking at his hair, “rude.”

 

“I know you have candy hidden in the drawer with your bras, so you can’t even say anything.”

 

“Um, guys,” she starts, looking around the room, “where’s Aiden?”

 

“Sleeping,” Liam answers for her, coming to sit on the couch with his plate of food. If he gets grease on the furniture, Killian will lose his mind. “He was awake for the entire flight, and to him, it’s naptime now.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t think about the time change for him. Or for you guys. Are you sure you’re hungry?”

 

“Liam is always hungry,” Elsa tells her placing her plate on the coffee table while she feels Killian adjust his leg underneath her. “It’s really unfair how good men have it with their metabolism sometimes.”

 

“Darling, I’m nearly forty. I don’t have the metabolism I used to have.”

 

“That’s true for all of us,” Kris says as he and Anna both come back into the area. “And obviously Emma has determined to fatten us all up for the winter.”

 

She snickers under her breath. “You guys can all come running with me in the morning. The cheeseburgers are totally worth the pain.”

 

“Says the twenty-nine year old.”

 

“I can’t help that you’re all old.”

 

“Hey,” Anna scoffs, waving a fry in the air. “If Killian wouldn’t kill us, I’d definitely throw these fries at you.”

 

“That’d be a sad waste of fries.”

 

“It’d be worth it.”

 

“Debatable.”

 

“If you’re going to waste fries it has to be the ones from the end of the potato,” Elsa adds in.

 

“Those are the best ones,” Liam protests, popping a fry into his mouth.”

  
  
“They taste too much like a potato.”

 

“Fries are potatoes,” Liam and Killian both protest at the same time.

 

“Not all potatoes are made equally,” she points out, pushing off of Killian’s lap. She’s hungry, but she wants out of this bra and out of these pants. “Just like all fries are not made equally.”

 

“Amen to that.”

 

“I’m going to go change clothes,” she tells everyone. “I’ll be right back. You guys can keep watching your kids’ show even though Aiden is asleep.”

  
  
“Sounds like a plan, Stan,” Killian mumbles under his breath, and when she turns back to look at him, he shrugs his right shoulder and winks.

 

She doesn’t mean to take her time while changing clothes and washing her face, scrubbing the makeup off one side at a time, but it’s kind of soothing to be able to do that. As much as she loves every person in that room, she’s not exactly used to having families over for a long time. That’s never been a situation she’s had to be in before, and it’s going to take a little bit of adjusting. It’s a good thing, but she’s not made to have to talk consistently. She and Killian talk a hell of a lot, but a lot of nights they have are spent stretched out on the couch in near silence watching TV.

 

Not a show for a twenty-month old but TV.

 

She takes the time to brush her hair out before twisting it into a loose braid that falls over her shoulder, and then strips out of her clothes so she can pull on her leggings and a sweater. She’s just about to go outside to get her dinner and talk with everyone when she stops and opens Killian’s bedside drawer, pulling the small box out and opening it to look at the ring. It’s the oddest thing, knowing it’s there and not being able to wear it. Of course, she could wear it. They could tell their families and have it all out there, this secrecy thing stopping, but she’s still waiting on the boat ornament. It’s the dumbest thing. She doesn’t have to tell everyone that way, but she wants to because of all of those dumb texts Ruby sends her.

 

She thinks that it’s fitting for Ruby to be the first to know when Ruby has been here for this since the very beginning.

 

A bit of laughter passes through her lips at that. It hasn’t been a long time. She and Killian have only known each other for a year, but it’s right. There have been plenty of ups and downs and absolutely insane moments, both because of their personal demons, the distance, and Killian’s job. He doesn’t get stopped a lot here, but it does happen. It’s always so strange to her, even if that’s how she knew him first, but it’s even stranger that one or two times some girls have stopped her. That’s not something she’ll ever get used to, but Killian is worth it.

 

Her trust in him is absolutely insane, especially because of how she’s been treated in the past, but when you love someone, you know.

 

The whole white picket fence (or apartment with a view) future used to always freak her out, but it’s what she wants now. She’s got her job, her friends, Killian.

 

She’s done pretty well for a kid who had nothing.

 

So she’ll wait on the dumb boat ornament for Ruby and wait on getting to wear the ring, the physical representation of the future she’s so damn happy to get to be a part of.

 

And it’s not like the next few days don’t go by quickly. They actually go by pretty fast, even if she spends her weekend falling on her ass when everyone insists that they go ice skating. Somehow, despite coming from a notoriously cold country, Anna and Elsa have never gone, and when they pass by a public rink while wandering through downtown, they insist that they have to. Somehow she didn’t think about the fact that Liam and Elsa live somewhere where it doesn’t really snow, and that being here would be like a whole new world. At least Anna and Kris have been living in Seattle…of course, they’ll soon be based in New York and will have the ice rinks there.

 

Somehow despite the fact that they’ve never been, Anna and Elsa are fantastic at it, quickly able to get rid of the walker and move around the crowded rink while she has to hold onto Killian’s elbow so that she doesn’t keep busting her ass.

 

Seriously. It’s going to be black and blue.

 

She definitely would have offered to watch Aiden to get out of it. Liam beat her to the punch.

 

But it’s fun once she gets over the pain in her ass, and she can feel her cheeks actually hurting from laughing so much. It doesn’t help at all when Elsa and Anna figure out some kind of routine that gets them kicked out of the rink. It really doesn’t help when Killian gets recognized and he starts mumbling under his breath that Robin is going to kill him for making him have work to deal with when he’s supposed to be on holiday. She’s not sure if she feels worse for Killian or Robin.

 

Definitely Robin.

 

Killian can deal with a few articles about him getting kicked out of a public ice rink.

 

She may or may not see if she can have anything about it printed and framed to keep forever.

 

She’s a good girlfriend.

 

Fiancée.

 

Partner.

 

Lover.

 

Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

 

Guiding them around Boston kind of reminds her of when Killian first came to visit back in May. She gets to be a bit of a tourist again, except this time they’re all bundled up in thick jackets and hats as they trudge through a bit of snow instead of sweating from the sun shining down on them. There are some perks to the city in the winter anyways, especially when there’s a light dusting of snow. She doesn’t love January when it’s too cold to even go outside or too difficult to drive, but December is a good time. Yeah, there are thousands of more tourists, but so many trees downtown are wrapped in white lights that give the city this glow the makes it especially pleasant to be here. Her foster homes didn’t always decorate for the holidays, but the city made up for it enough.

 

Killian’s arm wraps around her shoulder, tugging her into his side, as they walk through Columbus Park Sunday evening, making their way through the crowd to look at the blue lights that have been wrapped in the archway. They’re meeting her friends at the Central Wharf for dinner so that everyone can meet each other, but Liam had insisted that they walk through the park on the way there since walking along the seaside was proving to be a bit too chilly.

 

“I love you,” Killian murmurs just below her ear, his scruff pricking her exposed skin.

 

“I love you too,” she echoes as she wraps an arm around his waist and sticks it in the back pocket of his jeans. “I think showing your family around this weekend is going to give me frostbite.”

 

“Aye, it’ll be so sad when you don’t have your toes anymore.”

 

“However will I walk?”

 

“Special shoes, obviously.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

 

“I could carry you.”

 

“That seems excessive.”

 

“You’re right. I’ll leave you alone to die in the snow.”

 

She taps his ass. “That’s all I ask.”

 

Killian barks out a laugh, his head thrown back, but then he’s leaning forward and quickly brushing his lips over hers.

 

“Stop making out and show me where this restaurant is,” Liam bellows, and when she opens her eyes, she can see several different strangers staring at all of them.

 

“Babe, it’s right there,” Elsa laughs, pointing to the glowing sign a few feet ahead of them.

 

“That was not there a second ago.”

 

“I promise that it was.”

 

“Your brother is kind of crazy,” she laughs, speeding her steps up because she can see David standing on the inside of the restaurant.

 

“I think the cold weather is getting to him.”

 

“Probably.”

 

Kris and Anna walk in first, the door held open for everyone but a constant stream of people, and before she can even bother to make introductions, Anna and Mary Margaret are wrapped up in a hug. They’ve seen each other on Instagram, but Emma was not expecting that.

 

She should have been expecting that.

 

And she should have been expecting the mess of hugs and shaking hands as everyone greets each other, blocking the entrance to the restaurant a bit with the crowd. She hears Killian chuckle when Liam and David size each other up, but honestly, it’s even funnier when Ruby stares Liam down and then hugs him so tightly while Liam is almost shocked still. She’s not sure what Ruby said, and it’s probably best not to know.

 

They’re all seated at their table, chairs replaced with booster seats, and soon their conversation mixes in with everyone else, constant chatter floating along with the steady flow of Christmas music playing over the speakers.

 

“So how do you guys like the city?” David asks after they’ve ordered drinks.

 

“It’s bloody freezing,” Liam grumbles, his body obviously still chilled. “This coat is not nearly thick enough.”

 

“I told you to buy a warmer one.”

 

“Little brother, you didn’t say this.”

 

“Oh shit,” Ruby laughs, and her eyes glance to the kids before she continues, “you’re right, Ems. Killian’s face does get all red and scrunched up when Liam calls him little brother.”

 

“Hey, way to call me out like that.”

 

“My face does not get scrunched up.”

She twists her head to look at Killian and the way his nose is very literally scrunched up, and she can do nothing but smile at that end the embarrassed red tip of his ears.

 

“It does,” Elsa agrees. “But that’s fine because Liam doesn’t realize how ridiculous it is to call a grown man little brother.”

 

“It is not ridiculous.”

 

“As someone who is a younger brother,” David starts, “I totally agree. No one talks that way.”

 

“That is not true.”

 

“It’s totally true.”

 

“You don’t see me calling Anna little sister,” Elsa points out, very lovingly caressing Liam’s shoulder while her free hand keeps Aiden from throwing his crayons on the ground.

 

She feels Killian’s scruff against her ear before she even sees him move. “They’re going to cause Liam to implode right in the middle of this restaurant.”

 

She snickers at that and pats Killian’s thigh before resting her hand over his knee. “That would be a very messy clean up.”

 

“Secrets don’t make friends, lovebirds,” Ruby teases, kicking her foot underneath the table.

 

“You’re already my friend, so I’m not trying to impress you,” Killian huffs.

 

“I’m your friend,” Leo says, nearly quieting the entire table when they were all still debating over the weirdness of Liam and Killian’s relationship.

 

“You are most definitely my friend,” Killian agrees, smiling over at Leo. “I think you, your brother, and Aiden are my very best friends at this table.”

 

“And Emmy.”

 

“Oh, most definitely Emmy,” he laughs, reaching down and twining his fingers together with hers, thumb gently moving over her hand in a way that sends a shiver down her spine.

 

“Emmy’s my friend too, but we can share.”

 

“That’s so good of you to say, Leo,” Mary Margaret sighs, reaching over and pushing his hair off of his head.

 

“So we’ll talk about how it’s weird for me to call Killian little brother but we’re not going to talk about how I didn’t make it on his best friends list just now?”

 

“Sucks to be you,” Anna and Ruby both say at the same time.

 

Emma looks at Killian then, looks at the lines around his eyes and the smile on his face as he talks back to Liam, and whatever kind of nerves she had about their families not liking each other completely disappear just then. They’re all going to get along just fine.

 

And they do get along just fine. Probably much better than fine. The conversation never stops, even when they get their food, and despite the fact that they have three small children there with them, they stay late into the night casually talking about whatever they want. It all feels so natural, even with the newness of all of these relationships, and she’s already thinking about just when they can do something like this again this summer.

 

Soon enough, though, the night ends, and they all go their separate ways promising to see each other on Christmas Eve. When they get back to the apartment, most everyone settles down into the living room for a little while before excusing themselves to go to bed, leaving just she and Killian.

 

“Come here, love,” Killian mumbles, his accent deep and thick in his tiredness. She likes when it’s like this. It reminds her of the way he sounds when he’s describing every filthy thought he has about her, and it’s most likely the reason why instead of folding into his side like he wants, she gets up and straddles his lap, pressing herself down on top of him while his hands immediately go to her hips, gently holding onto her as his thumbs reach up to touch her skin.

 

He doesn’t say anything, though. She figured he wanted to talk to her now that they have a bit of privacy with everyone else gone to bed. But he stays silent, his thumbs moving in lazy circles as he buries his nose into her neck, breath coming out warmly against her collarbone while his teeth gently bite down, heat slowly beginning to simmer under every inch of her skin.

 

“You’re going to leave a mark if you stay there for too long.”

 

“You’ve discovered my evil plan,” he mumbles, each of the words slurred.

 

She laughs, throwing her head back the slightest bit while her hands move from his shoulders up into the thick strands of his hair, fingers cardings through the softness while Killian continues to lavish her skin with his tongue. She bemoans it a bit, doesn’t want him to leave some kind of mark of possession or passion, but then right when she can feel heart curl between her thighs, he pulls back, the heavy weight of him no longer in her neck. Instead he stares at her, eyes a deep blue while they trace over face, finally landing at her lips.

 

And then he’s on her, lips pressing into hers and hands pulling her impossibly closer so that their bodies are flush against each other despite the layers of clothes in between them. She can still taste a bit of the rum he had with dinner, especially when his tongue slowly traces her bottom lip, prodding him for the entrance he must know she’s going to grant him. When their tongues do collide, it’s like sparks are moving across her skin, all of her hair standing on edge while the sparks trickle down all the way to her toes.

 

It’s that kind of a kiss. The toe curling ones are the best ones.

 

They get better when her hips shift the slightest bit against Killian and her hands tighten in his hair. He groans, something deep from the back of his throat, and she’s practically a puddle. It’s a weird phrase, but she is. She’s a puddle and a mess of damn good feelings that have her feeling like she’s practically on fire even if she’s only left on her camisole and her jeans, her sweater from dinner resting in the kitchen.

 

She rolls her hips again, and Killian grunts before he’s shifting his hands so that his arms are completely wrapped around her back. For a moment she wonders why, but then she’s being lifted and unceremoniously plopped down on her back, the couch cushions supporting her while a giggle passes through her lips. Killian shifts above her, his elbows propping him up on either side of her shoulder. His mouth is hovering over hers, less than an inch away, and she thinks that he’s going to kiss her again, but then his mouth is on her jaw, then her neck, her collarbone. Finally he makes his way down her sternum, tongue licking in the valley of her breasts, and she gasps as her hips arch up into him.

 

Even though she can’t see it, she can feel the wicked smile he’s sporting pressed into her skin.

 

“I’m rather learning to enjoy winter in Boston,” he breathes, breath hot as it travels over her. His mouth moves a bit to the side, and she watches him nudge her top with his nose so that she can see the top of her breasts. “But I do find that it means I get to see a little less of these.”

 

“Well, I could die of that frostbite we were talking about earlier if you really wanted to see my boobs that much.”

 

He glances up at her, one eyebrow raised, and she smirks herself as she reaches down to brush his hair off of his forehead. “I do love them, so I think it may be worth it.”

 

“You only love me for my body.”

 

“I’m going to tell you just how wrong you are about that after I get done showing you how much I love every damn inch of this body.”

 

She laughs, her head pressing back into the cushions, but then Killian has somehow worked his way past her bra and is biting down on her nipple. The laugh quickly turns into a gasp, and even her blood heats at the sound of Killian’s groan.

 

As good as he is with his words, sometimes when he wants her too damn much, it renders him speechless.

 

That’s always a bit of a proud moment for her.

 

He releases her with a pop, and instead of moving to her other breast, he moves back up her body, spending a very particular amount of time on her ear, before he’s back at her lips. It’s a slow kiss, lazy even, but these are the ones she prefers. Quick and fast and dirty are wonderful, and she’ll never complain about those. But she likes the lazy exploration of each other that only really comes when you already know all of the ins and outs.

 

“Bedroom.” She yanks at his hair, and presses her hips up again, and he nips at her bottom lip.

 

“In a moment.”

 

She’s practically jelly at this point, so she agrees, not thinking anything of it until there’s the a quiet creak of wood and the room is suddenly flooded in lights besides the ones of the city.

 

“Bloody fucking hell,” Killian groans, harshly shifting up on her, and she doesn’t realize why until she twists her head to the side and sees Liam standing at the end of the hallway, feet frozen and mouth wide open.

 

Oh.

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

Her fiancé’s brother, who is still staying with them for another few days, just walked in on them making out of the couch with her breasts decidedly exposed to the world. That would explain Killian’s sudden haste to cover her even more so with his body.

 

“Don’t just stand there, Liam,” Killian growls, his words lilting up into a bit of a laugh at the tail end of his sentence.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Liam apologizes, holding his hands up and shuffling his feet. “I didn’t – you’re not – Elsa needed a glass for some water.”

 

“It’s fine,” she lies, every inch of her skin cooling down while she rubs her hands up and down Killian’s shoulder blades. She can feel the tenseness in them, the frustration practically vibrating off of him. “Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. Killian and I were just about to go to bed.”

 

“Really? Because it kind of looked like you were about to fuck on the couch.”

 

“Get your fucking water, and get your arse out of here.”

 

“KJ,” she whispers, twisting her head to look back at him and caressing his face with her palm. He leans into it, his eyes fluttering closed so that his lashes land against his cheek, “it’s okay. He’ll be gone in a second, and then we can go to our room.”

 

“I’m not sure that I’m really in the mood anymore.”

 

She chuckles a bit under her breath before brushing her lips over his stubble. “That’s okay too, but I think you might change your mind when you can no longer see your brother.”

 

“He’s bloody fantastic at killing a mood.”

 

“That’s probably what Elsa says too.”

 

Killian has to bury his face in her neck to hide his laugh, but she can feel it though every inch of her body while she continues to move her hands up and down, his flannel moving with each touch. She should be mortified right now, but considering Liam saw her morning after look the first time she slept with Killian and then proceeded to accuse her of being some kind of stalker, this is nothing.

 

Maybe the embarrassment will hit when she doesn’t still want Killian so badly.

 

“Goodnight,” Liam hums. “Use protection.”

 

“Look at that. He spent two hours with Ruby, and they’re already just alike.”

 

Killian huffs and pushes off of her. “I think it’s time for you to move your arse into the bedroom so we can finish this.”

 

“See, I told you it’d be fine once Liam wasn’t in the room.”

 

“He’s never getting invited back here.”

 

“Don’t be dramatic.”

 

“What am I if not dramatic, my love?”

 

She finds that Killian most definitely doesn’t mind that his brother walked in on them when her lips are wrapped around his length in the privacy of their room.

 

* * *

 

 Over the next two days, Liam never mentions the compromising situation he found them in, but she can tell that he feels more awkward about it than either of them do, especially when he avoids looking her in the eye for a few hours. But it helps that she’s constantly surrounded by other people. They go out to lunch on Monday, stopping to get seafood even though Aiden has an absolute fit in the restaurant, but the rest of their day is spent in the apartment, the curtains mostly closed as they play all of the Home Alone movies, Aiden giggling and babbling even though he can’t possibly understand what’s happening. It’s cute, though, watching him clap his chubby hands together and rock back and forth while he sits between Kris’s legs.

 

Anna and Elsa decide that they have to make Christmas cookies, and not the ones she can buy at the market that come precut, so for the entire afternoon the apartment smells like a mixture of cinnamon and sugar, the oven constantly being opened and closed as new batches in different shapes are made. Anna is freakishly good at baking. Like, far better than Killian, and she and Elsa are able to make intricate shapes and designs all the while she has this green glob of a Christmas tree. Killian tells her that he’s sure it’ll taste good, but that’s most likely because she didn’t actually bake them.

 

Christmas has basically exploded in their apartment, but she doesn’t mind at all. She enjoys it and enjoys all of the happiness of it. She’s got three days off of work, and she’s going to savor in it.

 

“This is delicious, love,” Killian mumbles as he takes a bite of a snowman that she did, the crumbs of it getting stuck in his beard.

 

“Are you going to make a point to only eat my ugly cookies?”

 

He winks. “Exactly.”

 

But, of course, since she wants to savor this time, it flies by quickly, Christmas Eve arriving in the blink of an eye. She’s excited for today, though. They’re having her friends over for lunch and presents, and after today, she doesn’t have to hide the fact that she’s got a very pretty ring hidden away and a man who wants to marry her.

 

Which is still just insane.

 

A good kind, though.

 

“G’morning,” Killian mumbles as he shifts in bed, sleepily grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to each knuckle, lingering a little longer on her fourth finger before moving down to her wrist. He’s so romantic in all of these small ways, and it honestly kind of makes her heart giddy. It’s weird.

 

“Morning.”

 

“It’s cold in here.”

  
  
“Says the human heater.”

 

“That sound rather odd when you say it like that, Swan. It’s like I’m burning humans.”

 

“Ew, stop,” she groans, falling back onto the mattress and putting space between them, pulling the comforter up over her shoulders and burrowing herself in. “You know what I meant. You didn’t have to get all creepy about it.”

 

“I saw my shot, and I took it.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him, and she sees his lips shift up into a smile while half of his face is pressed into the pillow, squishing his cheek and causing his eyes to crinkle. His hair is all over the place, the strands going in several directions, and she’s tempted to bury her hands in it to fix it. But she also kind of likes it when he’s disheveled.

 

“So are you ready for our families to start hounding us on wedding dates and details and wondering what kind of dress I’m going to wear?”

 

He chuckles, something deep and husky, and she knows that he’s going to lean forward to kiss her nose before he does it. And she knows that his hand is going to find a spot on her waist too, nails tracing nonsense patterns.

 

“I’m thinking after I film Life After and in a courthouse. We’ll both wear jeans and those ugly Christmas sweaters.”

  
  
“I’m not wearing a Christmas sweater when I marry you.”

 

“Why not? It’d be very fitting.”

 

“This is true, but I do kind of want a nice dress. Not necessarily a gown. I might feel ridiculous in one of those. I don’t know. I kind of like this courthouse idea, though. Or maybe on the beach at your house in LA. Is that too cheesy?”

 

“All weddings are kind of cheesy.”

  
  
“True. It’s not like we’re getting married in our swimsuits or anything.”

  
  
“It’d make for easier access.”

 

“Shut up,” she laughs, reaching over to hit his shoulder, which only makes his face crinkle up more as he smiles. “I’m going to miss you when you’re living in Toronto this spring.”

 

It’s the first time she’s said those words. She hasn’t wanted to, not wanting to make him feel guilty about having to leave for filming when he should never have to feel guilty. But it felt right to tell him that now, especially as they make all of these hypothetical plans for their very real future.

 

“And I you, love,” he promises, and her heart pangs for a moment. “But I’ll fly home when I can. You’ll come to visit. We’ll get back to facetiming like we used to. That’s not something we have to worry about now, though. We’ve got a holiday to celebrate.”

 

And they do. She and Killian both hurry and get ready, going through their morning routines while they can hear all of the chatter and life going on outside, all of Killian’s family very obviously already awake. She thought the time difference would have them sleeping in, but she guesses that Elsa and Liam have a baby who most likely does not know what sleeping in is. So before she can even bother to have her coffee, she’s bombarded with “good mornings” and conversation from four different people, all of the talking about how excited they are for today and if there’s anything they can do to help before her friends come over. She knows that even if she said no, they’d help anyways.

 

They’re good people, and she loves them. She’s going to be a bit sad when they go home. But that’s not something that she thinks about as Kris and Killian start cooking the chicken while Liam and Elsa set up the table. Anna helps her wrap a few last minute presents, and by the time the Nolans and Ruby show up at one, absolutely everything is set up for them to celebrate Christmas. It’s most definitely the biggest celebration she’s ever been a part of, even if it’s not quite Christmas yet. Her life is so damn full that she’s getting a little emotional over having Mary Margaret be chatting with Liam about gardening.

 

It doesn’t get any better when they finish eating, her stomach hurting from laughter, and they all move to the living room, most of the presents under the tree dispersed to everyone.

 

Most everyone in this room is an adult with the exception of Leo, Aiden, and Brody, so she knows that tearing through gifts isn’t something that’s really going to happen. They’re going to go slowly, take their time, possibly even try to salvage the wrapping paper (Who does that? You would have to be entirely sure that you’re going to be wrapping something the exact same size or something smaller for it to even work, but whatever. Recycling is good.) and keep it for a later day, maybe even tomorrow. She’d fully expect Ruby to be doing some last minute gift wrapping for her grandmother. Or possibly even Dorothy even though she’s in Kansas. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if Ruby took the paper her gifts are in and wrapped a present that she’s going to get when she finally gets to her small pile of goods from her friends since they’ll all be off spending time with their other loved ones tomorrow.

 

She was a kid who used to spend Christmas wondering why Santa didn’t come to visit her and who had holidays pretty tainted for her. Now she has more family than she knows what to do with.

 

She’s good with that.

 

She’s great with that.

 

She’s also great with waiting for Ruby to get to the small box that’s sitting next to her on the floor. Killian had quirked his brow when she told him she knew just the way for them to tell all of their friends that they’re engaged. If anyone’d asked her five years ago if she’d ever be this excited to make a commitment to another person and then want to make a bit of a show about telling other people she was doing that, she’d have laughed in their face. That’s not her. And maybe it’s still not. She likes for things to be private, for her personal life to be personal, especially with learning to deal with Killian’s job and the complications that come with that, but some things she does like to share.

 

Why would she not?

 

There’s a lump in her throat that she has to swallow, a happy sob threatening to escape her and ruin all of her plans. She’s decidedly sentimental lately. She’s been sentimental for awhile now. It’s different, but being different, changing isn’t always a bad thing. Some changes are bad, are painful. They pull you back instead of propelling you forward. Others, well, others are good.

 

Changing in a good way is called growing.

 

Growing is a damn good thing.

 

Growing means that she doesn’t always have to have a tough exterior, that she doesn’t always have to be act like she’s okay. Growing means allowing herself to be vulnerable even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

 

Growing means knowing that instead of stopping at an obstacle, that she can climb over it.

 

Growing means that she can allow another set of hands to help her climb.

 

So she’s decidedly sentimental, and definitely a little bit cheesy, but she’s happy. And she’s not going to bemoan something that makes her happy.

 

“You’ve got a bit of a starry-eyed look there, love,” Killian whispers in her ear, nipping at the lobe and making her squirm a bit. Cheeky bastard. “Is there something on your mind?”

 

“Nah,” she sighs, walking her fingers up from his knee to his thigh, comfortably placing her hand there while she feels Killian tapping against her shoulder, a habit he’s taken up lately. She doesn’t think he even knows that he’s doing it. “I’m just…happy. It still surprises me sometimes.”

 

“Aye, me too.”

 

She twists her head and smiles at him, looking up into the blue of his eyes before she presses up and kisses the corner of his lips, waiting for him to meet her halfway.

 

He does.

 

He always does.

 

(Except when it comes to leaving shoes lying around or dishes unwashed, but that’s not the end of the world even when it feels like it.)

 

“Are you sure this little plan of yours is going to work?”

 

She nods her head, quickly kissing him again before pulling back and looking over to Ruby who is holding up a pair of earrings that Mary Margaret and David must have bought her.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just wait. She’s going to figure it out.”

 

She squeezes his thigh for reassurance before she rests her head on his shoulder. She can feel Elsa’s eyes looking at her, the icy blue stare a familiar one even if it’s not from Elsa herself, but she doesn’t say anything. Elsa likely already knows. Not because of anything she’s done but because she knows that Killian told Liam he was planning to propose. And if she knows anything about Elsa, it’s that they’re kindred spirits in knowing when a Jones brother is holding something back.

 

Except she kind of failed at for the past few months.

 

She can’t always be batting a thousand.

 

Or homeruns.

 

Grand slams maybe.

 

What the hell? They all work. She knows her baseball terminology.

 

And there’s absolutely no way that she’s letting someone else break the news when she thinks that her idea for announcing it is absolutely brilliant.

 

She’s not an assistant public relations manager for nothing. She knows how to get people talking.

 

Finally, after what feels like ages, Ruby starts opening the small package they’ve given her. She feels Killian’s breath catch, the air stopping for the slightest moment, and she swears that her heart ticks up a few too many beats than should be humanly possible.

 

“Ems,” Ruby laughs, twisting to turn to look at her with a vibrant smile on her face, her lips practically reaching her eyes, “why in the world did you give me a photograph of you and Killian in these ugly sweaters? Did anyone else get these?”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“No.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe we haven’t gotten to them yet.”

 

“Because,” Killian starts for her, his fingers pressing into her bicep with a little bit more force. She can feel the vibration with every word she speaks. Or maybe that’s an earthquake. It’s definitely not an earthquake. That’s how it feels right now though. If she were to look under the sleeves of her sweater, she knows her arms would be covered in gooseflesh. “Those are the awful sweaters Emma and I wore in those videos from last year, and one of your gifts is a way to thank you for helping us meet.”

 

“Even though I still think that it’s fundamentally unfair for you to have made me adhere to a bet made while drunk. That would have gotten any contract dismissed in court.”

 

“Are you really complaining right now? And using legalities? I feel like you should be eternally grateful for me. After all, I’m the reason you get to have se – the reason you get to do the horizontal tango so often. Plus, you know, have constant companion who loves you or whatever.”

 

“Open the damn present, Ruby.”

 

“Language,” Mary Margaret and Anna yell at the same time.

 

Ruby waves them all away before she’s digging into the box and pulling out a small ornament in the shape of a boat.

 

“What in the world is this? Why are you giving me a boat ornament? I don’t own a boat. I’m a freaking therapist. I can’t afford that. And why does it say ‘The Love Boat’ on it? That doesn’t even make any sense and – oh my God.”

 

She doesn’t even have time to prepare herself before Ruby is up off the ground, squealing so loudly that her eardrums might burst, and then tackling her into the couch, taking Killian down with her. Everyone is staring at them. She can’t see, but she knows, can hear the confusion, can hear Leo wanting to know what Aunt Ruby is doing to Aunt Emma. But right now she’s so goddamn happy that it’s out there, that someone knows, and that her best friend is excited.

 

“Are you for real?” Ruby asks when she pulls back, looking into her eyes before she glances over to Killian, cupping his cheeks and squishing them together. “Is she for real? You guys are engaged?”

 

“She’s for real.”

 

“Engaged?” Mary Margaret shrieks, the pitch rivaling Ruby’s.

 

Or maybe that was Anna’s shriek mixing in. Elsa’s too. Maybe it was Aiden or Leo joining in.

 

It definitely wasn’t David, Liam, or Kris, but they all let out some kind of noise too, the room suddenly roaring with conversation so loud that she can barely think. But it’s the good kind of roar and the good kind of deafness.

 

It might not be the good kind of having some sort of internal organ squished by Ruby, but she thinks whatever it is will be okay.

 

It takes a long time for everyone to calm down, for the squealing and smothering to stop so that she can explain to everyone that Ruby sent her a text the night after she and Killian met saying she wanted a boat named “The Love Boat” if she and Killian ever got married. Technically they’re not married yet, but it works. Everyone laughs at the story, especially when both Mary Margaret and Anna are reduced to blubbering messes, their emotions becoming a little too much. All of it is absolutely insane, but it only gets worse when she finally gets to put the ring back on her finger, right where it belongs.

 

She’s okay with this kind of hysteria, though. It’s part of that whole growth thing. And absolutely nothing is going to make this day any less wonderful or special or so goddamn festive that she can’t stomach it.

 

She’d bet on it.

 

Her bets seem to have pretty good end results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo...that's it! Or, at least, the last official chapter. There's still an epilogue and a bonus chapter from a prompt I got, but we're wrapping things up. And as sad as that makes me, I love this story so much and that's definitely aided by how much you guys love it too! Seriously! I smile every time you guys flail in the comment section. It makes my day! So thank you 💙


	30. Epilogue

She settles down on the couch in front of the TV in the living room, all of the shutters closed so that she can’t see outside to look at the ocean under the dull glow of the cloud-covered moonlight. She can still hear it a little bit, the subtle crashing of water against sand, but it’s mostly drowned by the sound of rain that beats down on the roof of the house. Obviously it rains in Santa Monica, but it’s rare enough for it to be an odd occurrence. She’s used to the sunshine and pleasant weather, even when it gets a bit chilly.

 

Her Boston roots would be ashamed of her for thinking that sixty degrees is chilly.

 

It’s what happens when she’s been living in Santa Monica for a little under two years now, all of her internal temperatures getting messed up with the total change in climate.

 

Making that decision had been difficult, as are all of their decisions to move or not to move and whether to visit for a weekend or a week (or for months if she’s honest with herself, even if that isn’t a real possibility) when Killian is away filming, but Killian knew that he’d mostly be working in LA for his next few projects as he wrapped up his stint with DC and Superman. He says that he’s outgrown that role, that he’s happy to get to move on to other roles that he enjoys more, but she can tell that he’s upset about having all of it be over. He’s really bonded with his costars, and she knows that he’s not too happy to not be working with Arthur and Ariel again after they’ve been working together for nearly a decade.

 

So he’s a little sad about it all ending, even if he won’t show it, but she can see the tenseness and emotion in his eyes as he promotes the last movie. He’s on Fallon tonight, and she hopes that he gets to have a good time instead of worrying about saying the wrong thing or giving out spoilers.

 

Her husband has the ability to give her spoilers to all kinds of movies, but she has to tell him no since she most definitely will not be able to hold her tongue.

 

There was an incident with the last Justice League movie that may or may not have been her fault.

 

(It was definitely her fault.)

 

It’s all much easier when Killian’s doing things where spoilers aren’t as big of a deal, but at the end of the day, all she wants is for him to be happy and to be doing something that makes him proud. That’s kind of been their thing lately. They want each other to be proud of what they do for their work, to be proud of how they spend their days. She had to quit her job when they moved here, and it took awhile for her to find one that she loved. It took awhile for her to find one where they wanted her because of her abilities and not because of who her husband is. But she did eventually find work at the Children’s Lifesaving Foundation, and as much as she loved her last job, she loves this one so much more. She actually gets to interact with kids and families, and she can legitimately feel the difference she’s making as she sets up fun events and field trips for kids who would never get that kind of privilege elsewhere.

 

It helps that she has good hours too, especially now.

 

Really, the only downside is that Ruby doesn’t work with her, so she doesn’t have her best friend barging in on her office ten times a day stealing candy off of her desk and begging her to the leave the office to get Tasty Burger a few blocks away even when they really should be working. She misses Ruby just like she misses David and Mary Margaret. It’s hard being away from them, and even though they don’t manage to talk every day, they do still talk most days. She looks forward to her video chats with Leo and Brody. They’re growing up so dang fast, and every time she gets an opportunity to go visit them, she’s on a plane.

 

Her frequent flyer miles are still constantly adding up, and it’s something she’s learned to accept as a part of her life, even if it’s something that she struggled with for a long time.

 

Actively choosing to leave people she loves was one of the hardest decisions she’s ever made, and no amount of words will ever be able to express how thankful she is that Killian did that for her when they were dating. That changed absolutely everything for them. He always told her that he wasn’t giving up any more than he was gaining, and he’d do it all again in a second.

 

She would too.

 

Besides, sometimes she misses that apartment in Boston, so she and Killian will stay there on occasion. There’s a lot of good memories there. She almost traveled with him to New York so that they could stay in Boston for a weekend, but it didn’t work out this time. Maybe sometime soon.

 

She’s obviously got to go to a Sox game. Of course, they do play in LA sometimes, but it’s just not the same as being in Fenway with her feet propped up on the chair in front of her and with a hot dog in her hand when she and Killian inevitably get singled out to be on the kiss cam.

 

(There’s a video on the internet of them making out because they got a little too carried away one day, and she tries not to think about that as much as possible. Her husband is hot, okay? Sometimes she likes to stick her tongue down his throat in public like the classy woman that she is.)

 

She listens as Jimmy Fallon does his opening monologue, the minutes stretching out as she waits for Killian to walk out on stage. It’s most definitely not live and she could just talk to him on the phone, but Killian is currently asleep in a hotel in Manhattan. He’s been so exhausted, the dark bags under his eyes increasing every day, and she can’t wait to have him home tomorrow so that she can kiss that handsome face and sleep next to him in their bed for the first time in two weeks, wrapping her arms around his waist and not letting go.

 

She misses him. Like crazy.

 

Even if she’s been stretching out on the bed and taking up most of it by herself. Though, it is a ridiculously large bed, and she can appreciate that the house allows them to have furniture that is far too big for two adults.

 

But she still misses him.

 

It’s weird how it somehow never gets easier and then yet it also does. She misses him when he’s gone, and sometimes the ache is overwhelming to the point of tears, but then there are times when it doesn’t have as big of an impact on her and she only misses him a little as she goes to work or spends time with Elsa and Liam. She can never quite explain it. She doesn’t really need to.

 

It’s her life, their life, and she wouldn’t change it for anything.

 

Eventually Killian comes out on stage, Jimmy introducing him and the two of them chatting about the movie for a bit, and then they get to the conversation she knew was going to happen. It’s been happening in all of the interviews that she’s watched, and she hasn’t even watched that many. She loves the man, but she doesn’t need to listen to every word that he says.

 

That doesn’t even happen at home.

 

Killian talks a lot.

 

“You and your wife welcomed a little girl a few months ago, right?”

  
  
“Well, that was supposed to be a secret,” Killian starts, bouncing a little in his seat and curling his lips into the beaming smile that forms on his face every time he talks about McKenzie, “but then a cheeky photographer managed to get a picture of us shopping for a crib with Emma’s rounded belly. But yeah, my wife gave birth five months ago, and I am so in love with my girl. Well, with my little girl and my big girl.”

 

She scoffs at that, but mostly she laughs at the way that Killian’s ears go red as he drops his face into his hands while Jimmy roars with laugher. “Emma, darling,” he sighs, speaking right to the camera, “you know what I mean if you’re watching. You likely haven’t watched any of my interviews, but this is going to be the one you watch.”

 

“You might want to bring flowers when you go home,” Jimmy chuckles, trying to contain himself as the audience calms down.

 

“That might be a good idea.”

  
  
“What’s it like being a dad?” Jimmy asks as he tries to change the subject. It’s a good subject change. This is one of her favorite things for Killian to talk about. Much more than Killian calling her his ‘big girl.’

  
  
“Terrifying,” Killian laughs, and she does the same, moving her legs up underneath her. She needs a blanket, but she doesn’t want to go get one. “I mean, it’s - “ Killian shakes his head back and forth, the disbelief evident on his face. “I’m a pretty private guy, especially over the past few years now that I have a family, but I love my wife and my daughter more than anything in the world. Of course I remember what life was like before them, but it’s been so long since Emma wasn’t the center of my entire world that I honestly don’t want to remember. And she gave me this kid that’s - she’s the greatest kid in the world, no competition even if I know that she is likely up right now grabbing on Emma’s ears.”

  
  
She chuckles at that too all while her stomach does actual summersaults that are disagreeing with the butterflies that are taking flight inside with her. The man is so damn romantic, and she cannot believe he’s making her swoon thousands of miles away while he’s in New York for work. Dammit it. He’s not supposed to be able to do that, but he can.

 

It’s not something she’s going to complain about. She might tease him a little though.

 

“You realize that’s likely going to be all over the internet tomorrow? Right after your other affectionate comments.” Jimmy laughs, leaning forward at his desk.

 

“Aye, I know, but I’ve found far too many weird things about me online to go looking around. I usually only see most things because Emma’s best friend sends them to me.”

 

She doesn’t get to hear the rest of the conversation because, almost like clockwork when she has a quiet moment, McKenzie starts crying, her little voice coming through the baby monitor that’s practically attached to her hip at all times. Usually she’ll cry for just a little while and fall back asleep, a lot of the awful late nights with constant wailing having ended a few weeks ago, but she is missing Killian a lot tonight and kind of wants to hold her kid. It’s selfish in a way, but McKenzie isn’t going to complain.

 

Mostly because she can’t talk and a little bit because Emma holding her will soothe her cries.

 

“Hi, baby,” she sighs as she walks in the room, leaning over the crib and looking at McKenzie clench her fists, her little pale face all red and bunched up and her green eyes slammed shut. “You’re being overdramatic, kid,” she laughs, picking her up out of the crib so that the cries stop while her iron grip gets a hold on some loose strands that have fallen out of Emma’s braid. That always seems to happen, and it hurts like hell. How she isn’t bald, she has no idea. “There’s no need to cry when I know for a fact that you’re not hungry and that you don’t need to be changed.”

 

It’s weird talking to someone who can’t talk back, but she’s kind of gotten used to it. She kind of enjoys it. A lot of her problems can be solved at three in the morning when feeding McKenzie and rocking back and forth in the glider. Sure, talking to Killian is great, but he talks back. Sometimes she just doesn’t want that.

 

That’s life.

 

The next three hours are spent walking McKenzie back and forth in the house while she tries to straighten up a little bit. It’s not totally a mess, but she and Killian are always going to have different opinions on what constitutes a mess. She’s not tired, though, her sleep schedule all out of whack since giving birth, so she has the energy to clean until she does eventually put McKenzie back to bed, hoping that she sleeps through the night.

 

She really has no idea, though, because when she wakes up the next morning the sunlight is already filtering through the bedroom window, the rain long gone, and instead of waking to a loud monitor, she wakes to Killian very creepily sitting next to her in bed staring down at her, his hand trailing up and down her arm.

 

“KJ, what the hell?” she gasps, her heart beating so quickly that her breathing stutters the slightest bit.

 

“I come home after being away for weeks, and my own darling wife isn’t even happy to see me. Shameful.”

 

“Oh my God,” she groans, rolling her eyes at the way that he’s got his hand clasped over his chest. “You’re ridiculous. You just scared the shit out of me.”

 

“Language, darling.”

 

“She’s not in the room.”

 

With a bit of an ache she sits up in bed and cups Killian’s cheek, running her thumb under his eyes to look at just how tired he is in person. It’s Saturday, so they’re definitely spending all day in bed. Sleeping or sleeping together. It doesn’t matter. Probably both.

 

Definitely both.

 

“Oh but she is,” he promises, his eyes scanning her face likes he’s trying to see if one of her freckles has moved. They haven’t, but he can feel free to check. “I’ve been home for about an hour. You were asleep, she was awake, so I went ahead and had some time with one of my best girls while I waited for you to wake up.”

 

“Your little girl instead of your big girl?”

 

“Bloody hell,” he groans, his lashes landing against his cheeks. All of his freckles are still in the same place too. Good. “You watched that?”

 

“I did, babe. Are there flowers downstairs?”

 

“There can be.”

 

She laughs at that, at the way he kind of looks like he might actually go buy her flowers, but she simply smiles and shakes her head. “So she’s on her playmat?”

 

“Aye.” He leans forward to slide is lips over hers while his hands cup her cheeks, the warm roughness steadying her while she finally feels them be connected again. It’s slow, languid, and just like always, she could get lost in it. “I have missed you, my love.”

 

“Me too. You’re not allowed to leave for a solid three weeks.”

 

“Why three?”

 

“Because that’s when I’ll get sick of you again.”

 

Killian chuckles, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin, and it doesn’t take him long before he’s peppering kisses against her cheek and jaw, working his way down until he’s moving against the tattoo on her wrist. It’s an actual tattoo now, not just a little dot.

 

 Mckenzie Jones.

 

Or as she’s usually known, Kenzie Jones.

 

She’s got two KJ’s who she loves more than anything in the world, and it was that alone that made her finally decided to expand her little dot tattoo into something more, into something better than her small rebellion at finally being free when she turned eighteen. That dot always meant something to her, but it means so much more now. When they got married at a courthouse in Los Angeles, just the two of them and Will of all people as their witness, she thought about going and getting the letters of Killian’s initials inked on her skin. But they did have a bit of a party to go to with their friends and their families, so it didn’t happen on that day. It had been a bit of a struggle to get everyone in one place for them to just get married at a courthouse, but it had all been worth it for them to get married only with the people that matter most to them around them.

 

And she eventually did get that tattoo. It’s just a little different than the originally planned KJ.

 

Killian’s got a matching MJ inked on his wrist. Now she can kiss his wrist tattoo as well. What’s fair is fair after all.

 

“And after I spent all day yesterday talking about how I wanted to get back to my wife.”

 

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

 

“It was but I – ”

 

McKenzie lets out what can only be considered as a squawk, and she can practically feel Killian’s groan, the dirty words on the tip of his tongue being swallowed back in exchange for him rolling off of the bed and picking their daughter up, gently plopping her down on the bed in between them.

 

“Little love, Daddy wants to romance Mummy right now, and here you are making very loud noises that don’t agree with all of this romance.”

 

“She’s obviously an evil little mastermind trying to keep us from giving her a sibling.”

 

“Darling, we managed to make her in between me being away for filming and us living next to Liam again. I think we can find some time to do some enjoyable activities with you on your back.”

 

“Or you.”

 

“Amen to that,” he laughs, falling back against the bed and picking up Kenzie, walking her across his stomach with her little chubby legs. “Alright, Kenzie girl, Daddy has been gone for two weeks, and I need you to tell me all about the junk food that Mummy is hiding in the kitchen.”

 

“She came out of my body. She’s not snitching on me.”

 

“She doesn’t have to. You left a tub of icing in the bathroom.”

 

Her shoulders shrug. She’s not at all ashamed of the fact that maybe she let herself indulge in a little icing. She doesn’t remember taking it into the bathroom, but weird things happen at night.

 

“It happens.”

 

He twists his head to the side, half of his face pressed into the pillow while he flashes her that crooked, boyish, altogether charming smile. She loves him a ridiculous amount. Has she told him that today? She’ll make sure to tell him later.

 

“It does,” he admits, his eyes crinkling. “Tell you what, later, once we’ve got this one down for her nap, you and I can go to town on that tub of icing.”

 

A laugh passes through her lips before she leans over and brushes those lips over Killian’s forehead. “It sounds like a plan, Stan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading this story! You guys have no idea how much I appreciate that you all enjoy the words I write and throw out at you! It really makes me smile, and your comments are the best 💕
> 
> This is the end, but I do have a bonus chapter from a prompt I got a few weeks ago. It's not going to turn into a Second in Command type situation where I end up writing a sequel instead of an epilogue, but I am accepting prompts if you guys want to see a bit more of this universe 😊


	31. Bonus Chapter: Bad Facial Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the bonus chapter, my friends! It's based off of the prompt below! And as always, my inbox is open for any requests that you have❤️
> 
> [Hi! So, I just saw an interview to Kit Harington from GOT, and he's got the most ridiculous moustache because of some proyect that he's filming or something. Can I request a one-shot in the BotB universe where Killian has some ugly/funny/ridiculous hairstyle or beard or moustache for one of his movies and Emma can't have sex with him or just simply look at him without laughging? And the talk shows' people find about it and ask about it in every interview or something. Thank you!]

He settles down in the bed, pulling the covers up over his shoulders and inching closer to Emma until he can get one arm slung over her waist and the other underneath the pillow, his chin on her shoulder and her feet tucked between his calves. Her moving her feet is how he knows that there’s still some kind of consciousness left in her and that she’s not dead to the world as she slumbers.

 

“You smell good,” she mumbles, and he smiles at that, spreading his hand out across the width of her stomach and tapping his fingers against her skin as he nuzzles further into her.

 

Working these long days on set has been killing him physically, but mostly it’s been killing him emotionally as he’s away from Emma and McKenzie, only really seeing Emma on the rare occasions that he’s home in time for her to go to sleep. He’s thankful that he’s shooting in LA so that they’re not far apart distance wise, but it doesn’t feel that way sometimes when he only sees his wife when she’s asleep and only sees his baby girl when she’s in that post-nap phase where she could care less that Daddy is home and all she wants to do is play with her toys. The ache he feels missing them almost reminds him of being away filming during the early stages of Emma’s pregnancy with his Kenzie girl, but that may have been far worse as he very literally couldn’t be there to hold her when she was suffering through nausea and fatigue.

 

At least he can hold her for all of that now even when he’s not around as often.

 

“It’s my aftershave,” he whispers in response, turning his head and kissing just below her ear, pressing his nose into her skin as he works at the skin there, listening to the little moan Emma elicits. God, he loves that. “The one you bought me for my birthday. Good to know that you – ”

 

Emma very suddenly twists in his arms, kneeing him in the stomach and kicking at his calves as she lands on his hand and is staring at him with their noses less than an inch apart, her lips parted and eyes widened with her brows raised.

 

“What the hell happened to you face?”

 

He recoils is head, furrowing his own brows while he looks into her eyes and tries to understand just what about his face has her so shocked. Is he bleeding and hasn’t realized it? Did he nick himself shaving? Is he getting a black eye from filming? Did he get hit without noticing?

 

“What do you mean, love?” he questions, pulling his hand out from underneath her to grab onto her waist, squeezing her hip as Emma’s hand rises to touch his cheek.

 

“You shaved, KJ,” she whispers, almost as if she can’t accept the words she’s saying.

 

“Aye, I know. I shave all of the time.”

 

“But, babe,” she continues, her fingers moving up and down his cheek, seemingly unable to stop touching him everywhere that she can get her hands on, not that he would ever mind that, “you never shave all of the hair on your face off. You just trim your scruff. It’s so…”

 

“Handsome? Dashing? So attractive that you simply have to kiss me right now?”

 

“Smooth,” Emma says instead, her brows pressing together as she concentrates on the movements of her hands. “It’s like baby skin but still the tiniest bit prickly.”

 

“Funny, that’s what I say about you.”

 

“Shut up, you idiot.”

 

“You’re so good to me.”

 

“I really am.”

 

“And forever the most humble and kind woman on the planet.”

 

“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything.”

 

“You never do.”

 

“Gah,” Emma groans, running her entire palm over his cheek while he slowly pulls her closer to him, their hips nearly touching, “this is so weird. I’ve never seen you with no facial hair. I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

 

“Well, I’d hope that you do still find me handsome. I’d hate to think a movie role is what’s going to break apart our marriage."

 

“I know. I always thought it was going to be a mid-life crisis where you go out and spend all of our money on a new boat or something.”

 

“That could still happen.”

 

“Could it?”

 

“Yeah, I’m only thirty-seven. Still plenty of time for me to spend McKenzie’s and baby Jones’s university fund.”

 

“All over some facial hair,” Emma sighs, leaning in to gently slide her soft lips over his, seemingly happy to linger there instead of moving. But then she does, encouraging him to open his lips with a flick of her tongue a little pressure from her lips as he forgets about everything but Emma and how she feels with her body against his and her lips effortlessly moving while she lets out this little gasp that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over. He doesn’t really want to when she makes the most glorious sounds that only he elicits from her. He’s about to fully tangle his tongue with hers and press her body down into the mattress, but then Emma’s trailing her mouth away from his lips and across his cheek and his jaw, rubbing her nose into his skin. “It’s like I’m kissing a different man.”

 

“People are always telling me to help keep the spark alive with things like that.”

 

Emma giggles into his cheek before he gently nudges her down onto her back, placing his knees on either side of her thighs to keep himself from weighing down on the small curve of her stomach as he slowly, leisurely, desperately melds their lips together. God, he misses her so much, and after this baby is born in six months, he’s not working for a solid year so he can spend time with his wife and his children. He doesn’t have any other commitments, and he plans on keeping it that way.

 

“I don’t think that’s what they meant.”

 

“Probably not,” he hums, nipping at the dip in her skin just above the collarbone. She smells of vanilla strongly enough that she must have taken a bath just before he got home. Or maybe Kenzie got her wet when she was trying to give her a bath before bedtime. He misses bath time. In the morning he’s going to get Kenzie to take an extra one so he can watch her giggles as they play with the letters that stick to the tub wall. “But I know that I romance you well enough to not need advice from others.”

 

“Can you use romance as a verb like that?” she asks on a gasp of broken air as her hips push up into his and her hands start running up and down his arms, staying at his biceps while he teases her skin.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Only for – ah – for future reference.”

 

“Well, I say that you can,” he murmurs into her skin before he starts working his way down her body, slowly pushing away clothes to kiss the tops of her breasts and her nipples, biting and teasing and driving her wild all the while she whimpers and moans and encourages him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing.

 

When he makes his way down to her thighs, having taken her pajama pants off, he’s just about to work his way past her underwear when he hears another giggle that he knows has nothing to do with the way that he’s kissing her. He ignores it, nudging his nose into her skin just above where he knows that she wants him when he hears it again, this time a little louder and more insistent as Emma’s legs close in a little on him.

 

“Darling?” he questions, poking his head up to look at her over the very slight swell of her stomach. He can’t see her face as it’s twisted to the side and into a white pillow case, but he can see her shaking from laughter. “Emma, love, I know I’m a confident man, but I can only take so much of my wife laughing at me when I’m about to have sex with her.”

 

“It’s y-your…it’s your face,” she sputters out before falling back to the pillow.

 

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

 

“Oh, KJ, that’s not what I mean,” she insists, propping herself up on her elbows while he starts moving away from the crevice of her thighs, his ego a little bruised even as he moves back up her body, trailing his lips and his teeth up her stomach and sternum and down her arm until he’s planting a kiss against the little MJ inked into her skin where the dot used to be. They’ll both have to get another one soon whenever they decide on a name for this baby.

 

He still wants to get Emma’s name somewhere, but he hasn’t decided where yet. They’re not going to have any more children after this, so he doesn’t have to worry about needing a place for a third initial for a child. He’s thinking he might get their wedding date tattooed around his ring finger for when he has to take his ring off for work even if it’ll have to be covered in makeup every day. He’ll know it’s there.

 

That’s really not the point right now, though. Emma laughing at him for no apparent reason when he was primed to do his best work is, however, is most definitely the point.

 

Falling back against the pillow himself, he stretches his arms and legs out, trying to cool the heated blood in his veins down as he takes several deep breaths, Emma still laughing beside him. What the hell is happening?

 

“What do you mean?” he growls, likely a little more agitated than he should be.

 

“I – okay, it’s going to sound stupid,” Emma says more quietly as she moves around on the bed until she’s sitting next to him and looking down at him with a soft smile on her face and her hair matted up in a way that makes her look like McKenzie when she wakes up from a long nap. He’d love baby Jones to be a boy, but he thinks he might like another girl too so that he can have all of his girls.

 

Really, though, he simply wants the little lad or lass to be healthy. That’s all that matters. That’s always what’s mattered.

 

“But?” he encourages, taking her hand in his and twining their fingers together despite him being a little annoyed with her.

 

“Your face is really smooth, babe. Like, it kind of feels like when I’ve just shaved my legs, so when you’re kissing my thighs, that’s kind of what it feels like and I can’t – I can’t stop laughing at it. It kind of tickles to be honest, which is totally the opposite of how it should be. I’m just really used to you going down on me and feeling your scruff.”

 

He sighs before he laughs himself, unable to stop as he shakes his head from side to side, disbelief at this woman never ceasing. He seems to remember her once saying her legs felt like a dolphin when she shaved. Maybe that’s what his face feels like to her, and it’s too foreign of a feeling. “You’re telling me you can’t have sex with me because of my face.”

 

She raises a brow. “Am I allowed to make a joke here or not? Because you totally set yourself up for that one.”

 

He reaches over and pinches her leg, watching her squirm and settle back down next to him so that their intertwined hands rest on his chest while his free arm wraps around her shoulder. “I did set myself up for that one despite knowing better.”

 

“Mhm,” Emma agrees, adjusting her head and her legs until she’s comfortable and totally intertwined with him, just not in the way he thought they would be. “I love you. I do. And I love your face no matter how it looks, but I have known you for five years and never once experienced you with a totally clean shaven face. It’d be like if one day I showed up as a brunette.”

 

“That’d be hot.”

 

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

 

“I do, I do.” He turns his head to the side and kisses her temple, purposefully rubbing his chin into her skin. “You know, just because my face is different doesn’t mean my tongue works any differently.”

 

“Later,” she yawns, running her foot up and down his calf in a way that is not at all helping the situation. “I just got really tired.”

 

“Did you nap today?”

 

“Didn’t have time.”

 

“Emma.”

 

“I know, but I got home from work and Kenzie was super whiny about everything and the nap didn’t happen. I was in bed by nine, though, and then you came home and I got all distracted by that handsome face of yours.”

 

He smiles into her hair and shifts a bit under her weight, running his hand up and down her arm. “You’ve got a bit of a Russian nesting doll situation happening. You need your sleep.”

 

“A Russian doll situation?”

 

“Yeah, like the dolls where you – ”

 

“I know what they are. Are you saying that’s what pregnancy is like?”

 

“Isn’t it?”

 

Emma laughs and shakes her head. “If only I gave birth as easily as those things come apart.”

 

“Now that would be a sight.”

 

“A really creepy one. Kind of like your face right now.”

 

“Sleep, love,” he chuckles. “You can make fun of me some more in the morning.”

 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

She doesn’t make fun of him the next morning, and he mostly thinks it’s because they don’t get a lot of time together before he has to go to set. Mckenzie wakes up a little before six, the monitor they have in their room going off for her, and instead of staying in bed and waiting for her to go back to sleep, he slowly unwraps himself from Emma and heads down the hall to his daughter’s room, picking her up and holding onto her as she babbles to him. She’s got quite a few words down now, and for a sixteen-month-old, he thinks she’s doing pretty well. She’s happy and healthy, and even if he doesn’t get to do bath time with her, they do spend a little more time together than they’ve been getting, Emma eventually coming down the stairs with her pajamas still rumpled up.

 

But then he’s off to work, and it’s the same routine over and over again for the next month.

 

He thinks that Emma gets used to his lack of beard of his face, no longer giggling uncontrollably when he tries to romance her, but when the time comes for him to start growing in his sideburns and mustache, he braces himself for her to hate it.

 

But she doesn’t.

 

Mostly because she doesn’t notice.

 

He knows that Emma is busy with work and with balancing a million things on one very small plate, but for the fuss that was made about his clean shaven face, he really did think that she’d notice he was growing a handlebar mustache and some seriously thick sideburns for his movie. The seventies were an odd time, and he cannot wait to be able to shave all of this off and grow back his normal facial hair.

 

Seriously.

 

But he’d also kind of like Emma to notice.

 

He knows the exact moment she does. They’re sitting on the beach with Kenzie, trying to keep her from stuffing sand into her mouth because that’s the phase they’re going through with her, when Emma’s gaze lands on his and her lips part and brows rise high on her forehead, eyes most likely widened under her sunglasses.

 

“What is happening with your face right now?”

 

“Darling, no offense, but I’m beginning to think you don’t pay attention to what happens with my face since you are continuously shocked by these changes.”

 

“I swear I look at you and pay attention to you, but I don’t…no, no, Kenzie,” she sighs, getting up from the towels and reaching to grab their daughter and pull her back to them. “We don’t eat sand.”

 

“Yummy.”

 

“You’re such an odd child, little love,” he chuckles, reaching forward to tickle her stomach until she dissolves into a fit of giggles, “but we don’t eat sand. It hurts our tummies.”

 

“It yummy,” she repeats.

 

“No, it’s not,” Emma sighs, resting McKenzie on her thigh and tickling her hands across her stomach to make her laugh. “KJ, I really don’t think I noticed the mustache.”

 

“What about the sideburns?”

 

“There are sideburns?” she laughs, placing her hand in front of her mouth in a pathetic attempt to cover up her giggles. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I – I shouldn’t…Killian, how long are you going to be sporting this kind of facial hair?”

 

“At least two more months.”

 

“Okay, okay,” she nods, her eyes most likely shining under her sunglasses, “I can deal with that. It’s just going to take some getting used to. If anyone can pull off this look, I have faith that it’s you.”

 

“Thank you, love,” he smiles, a little at Emma but mostly to himself at how much Emma’s affected by his changing facial hair. He knows she would never love him any less no matter what he looks like. It’s simply amusing to see how she takes the changes. “Alright, Kenzie, let’s put on your floaties so we can go out in the water and look for fish.”

 

Their life goes on, Emma’s stomach and his facial hair growing every day, and while he appreciates the roundness of Emma’s stomach and the growth in her breasts as their son (that’s right – they’re having a boy!) grows healthily within her, Emma does not seem to appreciate his facial hair. Nothing really changes with them. If there’s one thing he’s come to appreciate about his marriage – and really there are far too many to count – it’s that while he and Emma do get into disagreements, they’re a team who laughs together. She makes him laugh more than anyone just as he does to her, and no matter where they are or what they’re doing, they always have that playfulness that comes with being so comfortable with someone. It’s special, what they have, and he never wants a day to come where Emma doesn’t laugh at least once a day.

 

But the fact that she’s started laughing during sex (more so than usual, really since the two of them definitely aren’t the type of people where it’s always serious. Where’s the fun in that?) when she gets a good look at his face is definitely not what he was expecting. He doesn’t mind. He laughs too. His appearance isn’t what it usually is and sometimes when he gets a good luck at himself in the mirror, he can’t help it either. But it becomes this constant, consistent thing that he grows used to, and even if some people think that it’s a bit harsh, he’s forever charmed by his wife.

 

When filming is over, he gets to shave, his face returning to almost normal, and when he and Emma celebrate the night after filming is finished, Emma carefully situates herself on his thighs to help with her stomach as she runs her lips over his jaw.

 

“I kind of miss it,” she lets out on an exhale as she sinks down onto him, her walls enveloping him in all of their goodness, the slick warmth nearly driving him into the madness that it always does.

 

“My darling, we slept together four days ago. I don’t think you missed my cock too much.”

 

“Sometimes you shouldn’t say the things you think,” she giggles into his neck while his hands find her hips to help guide her a bit.

 

He waggles his brows even if she can’t see them with her head resting on his shoulder like it is. “We were both thinking that.”

 

“I was actually thinking about your mustache.”

 

“Emma,” he gasps, sliding his hand down to rest at her ass, squeezing the slightest bit, “you miss my mustache? You hated that thing.”

 

“It grew on me.”

 

“Technically it grew on me.”

 

“Your jokes have become so much worse since becoming a dad.”

 

“I have a reputation to uphold for all other dads when it comes to telling dad jokes.”

 

She hums, swiveling her hips a little bit more and making him nearly lose himself right there. “You do have a reputation to uphold. I’d hate to make someone think that you weren’t keeping up with your quota of dad jokes.”

 

“Next thing you know they’ll find out I haven’t been wearing the cargo shorts.”

 

“Killian, my love,” Emma says very seriously, pulling back from his neck so she can cup his cheeks while her hips do something indecent to him, “I will accept the mustache, but I will not accept the cargo shorts.”

 

* * *

 

Six months later his beard is back to its normal length and shape, has been for awhile now, and he’s on James Cordon to promote his movie. It’s the last piece of work that he has to do before he can finally take a break to be with Emma and the kids without any work interruption, and as fun as this is, he cannot wait to go home in two hours.

 

“So you know I have to ask,” James starts from behind his desk while Killian smiles, wishing the lights weren’t quite so bright as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear, “about your wife, your family. It’s a bit of a tradition with my producer threatening me if I don’t.”

 

“Well, what does she threaten you with?”

 

“I’ve signed an NDA and can’t tell you that.” He laughs and nods his head, waiting for the words he knows are coming. “So, I love your wife. She’s a sweetheart, but there’s a rumor making its way through the Hollywood grapevine that your facial hair in your latest movie caused a bit of an issue in your marriage.” Killian rolls his eyes and leans down to bury his face in his hands before peeking through his fingers, wondering if this story is ever going to go away. “Would you like to expand on it a bit?”

 

“Would I like to?” he laughs, sitting up against the couch and pushing his hair back while he smiles. “No, likely not, but I will. So I was out to eat lunch with my brother. We were chatting. It was all fine, and I, being an idiot and forgetting that people care about things that I say, was telling him that my wife found my moustache and sideburns to be quite a…she couldn’t stop laughing at me. Like, she’d look at my face and bust out laughing, and it’d get particularly bad when we were having private time.”

 

“When you were fucking?”

 

“Oh hell,” he chuckles, his laugh mixing in with the audience as they play the fake censorship bleep over the speakers since that’ll have to be censored later. “Pretty much, yes. Sometimes she couldn’t help herself and would laugh until she couldn’t breathe, completely taking us out of the moment because then I’d start laughing too.”

 

“Really?” James hiccups as he laughs too, leaning forward on the desk. “It didn’t hurt your pride?”

 

“No. Emma, you have to understand that Emma is the funniest person I know. Far funnier than me, and we’re always laughing. Usually not at each other’s faces, but we’re always laughing. I looked ridiculous for a really long time, and honestly, I’d keep that damn mustache for the rest of my life as long as it makes her laugh.”

 

“But at what cost to your sex life?”

 

“Well, we just had a little boy, so I think things are still looking up there.”

 

He finishes the interview, his face hurting from laughter as they thankfully move away from his personal life and onto other things, and when he and Emma settle down to watch the interview that night, at her insistence of course, she laughs throughout the entire thing, their bedroom filled with the melodious sound he’ll never tire of.

 

“KJ,” she giggles, peppering kisses all over his face, “I love you and your face always.”

 

Seeing this tiny, sarcastic, fun-loving woman smile or laugh or cuddle with their children or light up like a constellation in the sky gives him life and reminds him of just how much he loves her and her face always.

 

Though, Emma with a mustache and sideburns would be quite the sight to behold.


	32. Bonus Chapter: Pregnancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: After the last chapter, I’m definitely going to need a flashback to when Emma told Killian that she was pregnant. Please and thank you!!
> 
> After that prompt in botb I would love to see how Killian has to travel for work to promote a movie and Emma finds out that she is pregnant or already know it and how they deal with the distance in that plan. Thank you!
> 
> This all happens in July 2021, so it's before both the epilogue and the first bonus chapter ❤️

When Emma wakes up, her neck aches, some of the muscles very obviously pulled, and tentatively, she stretches out a bit, lifting her head off of her pillow and reaching over to her left to feel the cold sheets next to her. It’s a habit, one that she isn’t really fond of, but she does it nearly every morning. It’s almost like she’s forgotten that Killian isn’t home, forgotten that he’s not going to be next to her when she wakes up in the mornings. For at least those first fifteen seconds of waking, the light coming back to her eyes, she thinks that she’s going to see the rise and fall of his chest, the soft smile that graces his lips when he sleeps, the long, dark lashes landing against his cheeks.

 

But he’s not there.

 

And she knows she’s being dramatic. She really does. Going into this relationship, she never quite knew what to expect, but once she was in, she was _all in_. And if being in meant having to be separated from her husband so that he could be happy with his career, she was fine with that. She is fine with that.

 

It doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss Killian.

 

He’s her best friend, the person she trusts most in life, and he’s currently in Prague filming. Prague is decidedly not Santa Monica, and she wishes it was.

 

Two more weeks.

 

She can wait two more weeks until he’s home for a long, long time, and then she is not letting him out of her sight for, like, a month. She has work. He has obligations. They have friends and family. That’s never going to happen, but she can at least have him all to herself for a weekend. They deserve that.

 

For all the talking and video chatting they can do, there’s nothing quite like being able to feel the strength and warmth of his arms around her before she goes to bed or in the evenings when they’re cooking dinner and Killian tries to distract her by running his lips across her jaw and coaxing her out of making whatever it is that she’s making…as if she’s the one who makes dinner most often when that’s usually Killian.

 

So two more weeks.

 

They can do two more weeks.

After running her hand over the sheets and the comforter one more time, she rolls over to her nightstand to unplug her phone, turning the brightness down, and pressing her thumb down to open up her notifications.

_Ruby: What was the nail polish that I let you borrow? I can’t remember the name, and Dorothy wants to use it._

_Mary Margaret: Do you have any time off this month? I was thinking about the boys and I coming to visit?_

_David: lol._

 

She fires off responses to all of them except for David’s text, not having anything else to add to him laughing at a joke about detectives that she sent him last night while she was wide awake and he was fast asleep. Half of the people she talks to are in different time zones, and it can get the tiniest bit confusing.

 

Seriously. Killian is nine hours ahead of her.

 

_Killian: Good morning, darling. I hope you slept well. I have a pretty normal filming schedule today, so I’ll call you before I go to bed, yeah? I love you._

_Emma: I love you too. I hope you’re having a good day!_

Turning some music on her phone and connecting it to the speakers installed throughout the house, she slowly climbs out of bed, her head a bit groggy this morning, and tries to make quick work of taking a shower. But she stays under the warm spray for much longer than she should, letting the water work out the aches in her shoulders and the still tense pinch in her neck. Damn, did she sleep on it wrong. Obviously her bed is not her friend lately, and that’s her favorite place in the world.

 

Talk about betrayal.

 

Eventually she turns the water off and gets out of the shower, moving the soft towel over her legs and her body before grabbing another one and wrapping her hair on top of her head. She has absolutely no idea where her robe is, probably in the laundry room somewhere, so she grabs Killian’s off of his hook and wraps it around her, tying it at the waist to combat some of the chill from the air conditioning blowing on full blast. She doesn’t even want to think about their power bill for this month, but honestly, it’s worth it for how warm it’s been this summer.

 

Seriously. It’s been miserably hot. She misses winter, which is something she never would have said living in Boston.

 

(She misses Boston too, but this move was the right decision. She doesn’t regret it.)

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she grabs her phone and walks downstairs, opening the curtains and blinds as she goes to let in some natural light, the sound of the ocean coming through the open back doors that lead out to the deck. She’s not really feeling like eating, but she knows that she needs to. She’ll forget otherwise, and then when she goes to Liam and Elsa’s for dinner tonight, she’ll go through their entire pantry, which is much less acceptable to do than gorging out on her own food. But nothing seems good, the cereal and bagels unappealing, the eggs and anything she has to cook even more so, and the only thing that she will even consider is a grapefruit…which may or may not be rotting.

 

It’s fine. She’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow…and also pick up all of the clothes and glasses that she has scattered throughout the house. It’s not that messy, something she’s worked on since messes drive Killian crazy, but if she knows her husband at all, he’ll come home, take her to bed, and then wake up to go and clean the house. So obviously she needs to clean up a little bit more, maybe break out a duster.

 

Dusting is the worst.

 

This view of the beach, though, is the best.

 

She and Killian have found that most of their time since they moved back (well, since Killian moved back and she moved for the first time) has been spent out on the covered deck or in their bedroom with the doors leading out to the balcony wide open. The sound of the ocean is a background noise she always wants, so she turns off the music on her phone, the guitars fading from the speakers, and sits on the cushioned swing, slightly swaying back and forth while she sips on her water and watches the shoreline. Their neighbor has her dog running through the water, the golden retriever leaping into the air to catch its toy, and Emma wonders if they should get a pet. She’s not sure how that would work during the times when they’re both gone, but it’d probably be nice to have a dog or a cat around when it’s just her, at least so there’s more noise than the air conditioning and the televisions that she leaves on at night.

 

But then again, Killian is coming home soon and she’ll have no need to replace him with a cat.

 

Wait. That sounds weird. She’s not replacing him with a cat, though they probably have the same amount of hair.

 

Whatever. She’ll think about it and bring it up with Killian sometime soon.

 

Her phone dings next to her, and she looks down expecting a text back from Killian or Mary Margaret only to see a notification that makes her stop breathing.

 

Seriously. Her breath hitches, her stomach rolls, and her mind starts running a marathon when she hasn’t gotten the chance to even lace up her sneakers.

 

**You haven’t tracked your period lately! Make sure to update all information so we can monitor your cycles as accurately as possible.**

Holy shit.

 

Holy shit.

 

Holy freaking shit.

 

(Why did she just censor herself in the middle of a curse?)

 

While her heart decides to drop to her stomach and beat at what has to be an unhealthy amount of beats per minute, she clumsily attempts to unlock her phone, her thumb not being recognized so that she has to type in her wedding date for her screen to open up to her period tracker app. Her mind is so frazzled that nothing is really clear to her, not even the screen in front of her, and it’s because she’s trying to remember the last time she had her period. Her app says she hasn’t logged it since May, which means she didn’t do that in June or when her period was supposed to start two days ago.

 

And that’s fine. It really is. Two days is nothing. Two days is barely anything. And so what that she didn’t track anything last month. It’s an app. She forgot. Plus, she very well could have had her period last month without typing it into her phone. That’s possible. Not everything has to be logged into her phone to be real.

 

But did she have her period?

 

She honestly can’t remember. And it’s not like she can ask Killian. He hasn’t been here. He’s been thousands of miles away.

 

Shit.

 

Killian totally would have noticed, and he definitely can’t help her figure this out. Because she definitely can’t tell Killian that she’s trying to figure out if she missed her period…which means she’s trying to figure out if she’s –

 

Pregnant.

 

Well, there’s a word that she didn’t think she’d be thinking for a solid few months, maybe a year. Maybe even two.

 

Woah.

 

It’s not that they haven’t talked about it. They have. Killian is very big on talking things out even when she isn’t quite ready. They’ve talked about kids before, talked about the fact that they both want one, maybe two if the first one doesn’t kill them, but then back in March they’d been sitting in bed sharing a bag of chips while watching Stranger Things and Killian brought it up. It made sense. It really did. It’d been a gradually growing conversation, the lead up building, but when her face was stuffed with several salt and vinegar chips, she wasn’t really expecting to have to talk about the reality of what it would be like to have a baby and know that there’s the possibility of her having to raise the baby by herself if Killian is away. And then also how that can impact their future, impact their kid’s future. She knows that Killian wants to work less, or work closer to home more frequently, once they start their family, and that’s something they were talking about.

 

They were talking about trying when he got home.

 

It might be a little late for that.

 

Or early, really. She could be ahead of the game.

 

When in the world did she miss a pill?

 

Taking a deep breath, she tries to turn her mind off but can’t. She really is ahead of herself. She has no idea if she’s even pregnant yet, and she needs to take a test. But she most definitely does not want to take a test by herself, does not want to be sitting in the bathroom all alone when she finds out if her jeans aren’t about to fit in a few months (because that’s obviously the most important thing) and have no one know this secret but her, so she needs to shut this thought process down until Killian gets home.

 

Two weeks.

 

She can do two weeks.

 

By the time two o’clock rolls around, she’s spent the entire morning deep cleaning the house, deciding to take her worries and frustrations out on the things she needs to do, and she almost completely forgets that she could have an entire human being inside of her uterus.

 

(She’s a liar. She definitely doesn’t come anywhere near to forgetting.)

 

But then her phone rings, Killian’s face popping up on the screen from his contact, and she nearly vomits with nerves over the fact that she’s about to not tell him the reason she’s having a meltdown.

 

The vomiting thing is probably a sign, which is really a horrible symptom, and there should definitely be some kind of solution to that.

 

“Hello, beautiful,” Killian sighs, and she can practically feel his smile on the other end of the line, thousands of miles away in a hotel bed that’s not theirs. “How’s your Saturday?”

 

“It’s good.” That may be a lie. That may be the truth. She has no idea. “I slept in, cleaned a bit. I’m going to go to your brother’s for dinner later.”

 

“Emma Jones, you cleaned?” he gasps, and she rolls her eyes imagining him sitting shirtless in his room with his hand dramatically thrown over his heart. “Are you dying? Is there something you need to tell me?”

 

“No,” she blurts out, definitely too quickly before she scrambles to cover that up, “I just knew that if I didn’t clean now, I’d never have it up to your standards by the time you got home.”

 

“Love, all I care about when I get home is the fact that you’re going to be there.”

 

“Charmer.”

 

“Undoubtedly.”

 

“You’re definitely going to care about how clean the house is.”

 

“Eh.”

 

“Babe.”

 

“Love of my life.”

 

“Oh my God,” she groans, tossing the wipe she was cleaning the bookshelves with in the bin and walking toward the couch, falling back against the cushions and turning the phone on speaker before placing it on her chest, “you can’t just say things like that.”

 

“I can’t say the truth?”

 

“Not when you know you’re going to get me all flustered with it.”

 

“To be fair, love, you already seemed pretty flustered. You are cleaning, after all.”

 

“Hey, again. I clean.”

 

“Debatable.”

 

“KJ, I can change the locks on the house.”

 

“There’s always the windows. Hell, I’ll climb the damn balcony.”

 

She laughs despite herself and reaches down to tug at the robe she’s still wearing, pulling on the string before running her hand over her stomach, almost unconsciously. The words are on the tip of her tongue ready to be spilled, but she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know if she’s right, if the words are true, but the one thing that she does know is that if she tells Killian she thinks she’s pregnant now, he won’t stop worrying about her until his feet step inside of this house.

And there’s still the fact that she doesn’t want to take the test alone.

 

Pushing it all aside. That’s what she’s going to do.

 

“You’ll climb the balcony to get to me?” she asks instead, going along with the conversation.

 

“I’ll climb the balcony to get to my bed. If you happen to be in it, so be it.”

 

“There you go charming me again.”

 

“I try.”

 

She and Killian talk until his words are a little slurred, sleep calling him more than she is, so she tells him goodbye and that she loves him, chanting that two more weeks mantra to him before she, too, falls asleep, waking hours later with pillow marks on her face and her phone flashing five seventeen, a little under an hour until she’s supposed to be at Liam’s.

 

She hasn’t even put on underwear yet. That’s probably something she should do. They’re family, but there are some things that family does not need to see. Her vagina is one of those.

 

Her thoughts get weirder every day.

 

Thirty minutes later she’s dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt, her hair underneath a baseball hat, and letting herself into Elsa’s house after knocking on the door, which is really only a courtesy since Liam tends to barge into their house…still. After one too many times walking in on she and Killian, she really figured he’d learn to wait for them to answer the door.

 

“Hey,” Elsa calls over her shoulder when Emma walks into the kitchen, “how are you?”

 

“Um, good,” she mumbles, sitting down at a barstool and tapping her fingers against the countertop, wishing she had something to settle her stomach and all of the unease that she’s going through. Her mind will not calm down, and she really needs to calm down. “How are you?”

 

“Great. It’s so hot, isn’t it? Liam is outside on the playset with Aiden, and they’re both going to be drenched when they come in. But Aiden insisted, you know?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

She taps her fingers again, thinking about Aiden and Liam and the bond that they have. If she and Killian have a son, will they have a bond like Aiden and Liam? Would it even matter if it was a boy? Killian would have a bond with a daughter too. So would she. But there’s something so cute about watching Liam with Aiden even if Aiden is the spitting image of Elsa.

 

Genetics and all that.

 

How would that work for her kid?

 

Her hypothetical kid.

 

“Emma?”

 

“Uh huh?”

 

“You want to stop playing an entire piano concert on my counter and tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

 

“There’s nothing,” she lies, her voice a squeak as she looks up at Elsa and smiles, hoping that it’s a normal smile. “I have nothing on my mind except for how good that pasta smells. And the bread. I love your garlic bread.”

 

Elsa raises a perfectly groomed brow and flicks her braid over her shoulder, leaning forward and propping her elbows up on the island. “Emma, you can talk to me. You know that, right? You’re kind of going through a lot right now, and you can’t pretend that you’re not. You stay with us too often for me to not know how hard Killian being away is for you.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Elsa nods her head up and down once, twice, three times before tilting it back to her cabinets. “Do you want something to drink? I bought this new wine that I – ”

 

“No, I’m good,” she blurts out, completely and totally ready to bury her face in this granite. “I’ve got to drive home, and I really don’t think I want anything to drink.”

 

“Mmm, okay. Do you want to go to lunch this week? I think there’s this really great sushi place downtown that just opened.”

 

“Sure. I lo – oh, um, can we get something other than sushi? I think I’m going to give up fish.”

 

“Why?”

 

“A new diet or whatever. I’ve gained a few pounds.”

 

Lie.

 

They’re all lies.

 

When did she turn into such a bad liar?

 

“Ah,” Elsa sighs, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, “I get it. I, too, gained weight when I was pregnant. Though, I don’t think it was when I was as early on as you. Maybe you’re having twins.”

 

Every word that she knows flees from her brain. Every single one. She’s not sure if it’s the thought of her having twins or if Elsa has caught her in her lies, but honestly, it’s mostly the fact that she was caught that quickly.

 

Damn.

 

Elsa really is some kind of magical being who can read she and Killian far too well. It’s creepy and wonderful and terrifying all at once.

 

And she could most definitely cry right now simply because she is feeling all kinds of overwhelmed.

 

Emma leans forward to rest her face in her hands on the countertop, the cool marble refreshing. “How did you know?” she mumbles into her skin. “I don’t even know for sure.”

 

“It was a guess, but the no to wine and no to sushi, two things that you love, were a pretty big clue. Plus, you’re acting like a strung-out maniac.” She feels Elsa’s hand on her back, and when she opens her eyes, she can see that she’s moved to the other side of the counter to sit on the barstool next to her. “Have you taken a test?”

 

“I just realized I’d missed my period today. And I may have missed last month’s too. But, like, I haven’t been nauseous or anything, so I didn’t think about it. I honestly figured it was stress related.”

 

Elsa nods her head up and down, a soft smile on her face as she continues to rub Emma’s back. “I have some tests upstairs – no, I am not pregnant, but I had a scare a few weeks ago and bought, like, every test in the CVS I went to. Why don’t you go take one, just so you have a bit more peace of mind about it? And then when Killian comes home, you’ll either have some really great news to share or you can tell him about the time that you peed on a stick in his brother’s house with absolutely no context.”

 

She huffs, unable to stop herself or the twisting feeling inside of her, before leaning over on the stool and hugging Elsa, wanting all of the comfort and support that she can get since the rest of her support system are scattered across the country.

 

And the world.

 

Elsa asks if Emma wants her to come with to take the test, but she says that it’s alright, that she’d kind of like to do this part alone if she can’t have Killian with her. Even opening the box is nerve-wracking, but the worst part is definitely the waiting two minutes to find out if she’s going to be a mom a little bit sooner than she was expecting.

 

The phrase what to expect when you’re expecting comes to mind, and she feels like that can’t even really encompass everything.

 

How in the world do people do this every day?

 

It’s like a mixture of excitement and terror, and the only other place she’s ever felt like this is a rollercoaster.

 

That’s actually a pretty good metaphor for having a baby.

 

And according to the positive sign on the test, she is having one.

 

Wow.

 

It’s a lot to take in, but over the next two weeks, she becomes more accustomed to the fact. It helps that she makes a doctor’s appointment, gets it confirmed, finds out that her due date is February fifteenth, and that she is definitely not having twins.

 

She’s been secretly worried about that ever since Elsa made the joke.

 

That would be…overwhelming.

 

Mostly, though, as much as she’s gotten used to the idea, gotten excited about the idea, all she’s wanted to do was share it with Killian. And she’s not about to tell him he’s going to be a dad without him being in the same place as her. This is too big of a thing for her not to be able to hug him afterwards.

 

But he’s in the taxi on the way to the house right now, and she could throw up out of excitement. And the morning sickness that finally hit her, but that’s not what she wants to think about right now.

 

She’s definitely wearing down a hole into their hardwood from all of her pacing.

 

Her phone dings with an alert that there’s movement at the gate to the house, and her stomach does this actual swooping thing that should not at all be possible. It very apparently is, though. And while she’s never been a woman to want to run into someone’s arms out of excitement, that’s changed ever since she met Killian. When they were dating and had been apart for awhile, getting to see his face, even if it was for a day, was the greatest day. Now that she’s living apart from her friends, when she gets to go to Boston to see them, she most definitely runs into Ruby’s arms to hug the living daylights out of her. The same with David and Mary Margaret and their kids. And now that Killian’s been gone for months, she pretty much feels like her legs are going to launch her over the fence instead of into his arms.

 

Who knew it was possible to miss someone this much?

 

She guesses she did.

 

Instead of waiting inside like a sane person, she tosses her phone down onto the couch, and quickly walks outside, not even bothering to put shoes on. Her throat closes for a moment when she sees him, her eyes trying to take him in and catalog all of the differences and similarities all at once as he unloads his bags from the back of the car.

 

“Hey, Jones,” she calls out, running down the steps as he turns around, his hair flipping with the movement.

 

“Emma,” he laughs, his smile practically taking up his entire face.

 

God, she missed that smile.

 

It’s all a blur as she runs forward, her body colliding with his as her arms wrap around his neck and his arms wrap around her shoulders, tugging her closer so that she’s fully pressed against him. He’s solid, just like always, and his heat overwhelms her as she smells the slightest bit of his cologne mixing in with that awful airplane smell that seems to happen whenever anyone so much as steps into an airport.

 

He’s home.

 

“I missed you, Swan,” he murmurs into her ear, rubbing his hand up and down her back as he starts trailing his lips along her jawline, electric sparks spreading across every nerve ending that she has, some of them probably twice.

 

“I missed you, KJ.” She pulls back to look at him, her hands moving up his neck to cup his cheeks, thumbs tracing over his scruff and his freckles and everything as she looks at the blue eyes that she loves so much but has only been able to see through a video screen. And then she presses up on her toes and kisses him, kisses him like a woman who hasn’t been able to kiss her husband in months, a woman starved of the love and compassion that she’s been without for far too long. It’s all like coming to that safe comfort of home, which is perfect since he’s back and everything is in its right place.

 

“Hey, man, I need you to get your bags so I can go,” the taxi driver calls out at them, the displeasure in his voice obvious, and she and Killian break apart with blush on both of their cheeks.

 

“Sorry about that,” Killian grumbles, very obviously not too sorry about it, before he turns around to grab his backpack out of the backseat, handing the driver some cash, and closing the trunk before he drives off. “I don’t think that man liked watching you make out with me, Swan.”

 

“What’s not to like about it?”

 

“Exactly,” he winks, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer so that he can softly glide his lips over hers, his tongue quickly licking into her mouth in a burst of heat and pleasure before he’s retreating. “Darling, will you grab the black bag? I have no idea how I managed to pack so much stuff.”

 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

 

Killian reaches forward and slaps her ass, making her jump. “I missed that idiotic phrase.”

 

“As you should have.”

 

She picks up the black bag off the ground as Killian takes his others, the two of them carry them to the front door and placing them inside before Killian closes the front door and pushes her against it, her back hitting the wood as his hand snakes up underneath her shirt, warm flesh against her skin, and his lips start working at her neck, vibrations trembling down her spine.

 

“I have thought of you every day.” He punctuates each word with a kiss or a teasing of her skin with teeth, and she nearly melts right then and there at the deep rumble of his accent. “I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be able to do something like that again.”

 

“I love you,” she gasps out as his hand starts to fumble with the waistband of her leggings, yanking them down as heat curls between her thighs. But it’s then that she remembers that she has something kind of big to tell him. How could she possibly forget? “Wait, wait. Killian, wait.”

 

He pulls back, his head retreating into his neck as his brows raise and his eyes scan her face, typical Killian 101 trying to figure out what exactly is going on with her even as his hands still run across her stomach, itching to go beneath her leggings once more.

 

“What’s wrong, love?”

 

“Nothing, nothing,” she promises, swiping her thumb across the apple of his cheek as her stomach does that twisting thing again. She needs it to stop. “It’s just that, well, I’m pregnant.”

 

It’s not the smoothest way to tell her husband that they’re going to be parents, but when has she even been smooth and graceful and perfect with her words? Never. He blinks a few times, his lashes landing against his cheeks, and when his lips part, she expects some kind of word, but it’s really more of a…squawk? Is that the right word? She has no idea.

 

“KJ?”

 

He blinks once more before leaning forward to press his forehead against hers, his nose pressing into her cheek and his lips lightly brushing over hers as he speaks. “You’re pregnant? We’re having a baby?”

 

“I mean, technically I am the one having a baby, but you helped us get there.”

 

“Thank goodness I’m the father. I was unsure for a minute.”

 

“Shut up, you idiot,” she laughs, shoving at his chest to move him away only for him to pull her closer.

 

“I may be an idiot, but I’m the father of your baby. You can’t change that.”

 

“This is not how you were supposed to react.”

 

“How was I supposed to react?”

 

“I don’t know. With affection or something?”

 

“Me teasing you about the paternity of our baby isn’t affection?”

 

“Eh, maybe.”

 

“If it’s a boy, we should name it Stan.”

 

She barks out a laugh, her head falling backwards, and everything in her life rights itself. Killian is home, he’s teasing her, and he’s so unbelievably happy that her stomach finally settles.

 

This is perfect.

 

“I am not doing that.”

 

“I was kidding,” he teases, pressing his lips against hers once, twice, three times.

 

“Were you though?”

 

“Possibly.” He fumbles around under her shirt until he’s pulling his hand out and grabbing onto her left wrist, brushing his lips on her wrist dot in the way that she’s missed, the romantic fool. “I love you, and this is by far the best welcome home I’ve ever received.”

 

“I know. I’ll probably never be able to live up to it.”

 

“You can always try.”

 

“Eh, too much effort.”

 

Killian chuckles before kissing her wrist again, holding it to his lips as his eyes close and a soft smile forms on his face. “My love, I will always be happy to see you, both of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Tumblr at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com). Feel free to stop by and send me a message!


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